: ̗̀➛ 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 — 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘪𝘻



















secretary.







  • andô ikue



    twenty-four



    1998 nov 11



    female



    tokyo, jpn



    bisexual




    height
    eyes

    163cm (5'4")
    blue


    blood type
    hair

    a+
    black


    style

    Button-ups, pencil skirts, & kitten heels.

    Out of everyone in the office, Ikue might be the best dressed or most likely to generally look after her appearance, which isn't saying much. She's fashionable enough to have kept friends from undergrad off her back, but only to that degree.

    Made the mistake of wearing light colors her first couple of weeks on the job & has since mended this error after the dry cleaning bills that ensued. Clean-cut & modern in all aspects aside from her work bag & lanyard which are both jingle from countless chain & beaded accessories from the boutiques she visits on off-days.

    Caught outside of work, she typically elects for a preppy, girlish aesthetic. Of course, these days, work hardly gives her time to herself; if she ever is caught outside of the office, it's likely in a hoodie & gym shorts.

    Likes to crop her hair just a little past the nape of her neck. Her uneven bangs are the result of an impulsive trim after her accidental transfer, then half-refined by trial & error. Infrequently will tie what little hair she has up, making a little paintbrush at the back of her head.

    build

    Was in the best shape at the height of her orientation & subsequent days as a contractor. Has since lost some definition in her recent assignment as secretary.

    body mods

    Minimally scarred knees & shins from taking a few too many falls as a new contractor.

    habits

    When everyone's out of the office, she likes to keep herself company by talking out loud. Works only when in the presence of others; caught alone, she's not above wasting time on her phone. In her defense, most of her work's done within the first hour of her shift; the rest is spent just trying to look busy.

    credit

    @FqVrw6 on twitter ; gendou-san




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */
© weldherwings.
 
ID: _yawner
the mage
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LOADING . . . 80%
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File:
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  • 01
    File:///C:/
    at a glance
    >
    NAME: elias ancira-garza
    >
    DOB: 11.21.2058 [ 22 ]
    >
    GENDER: ♂ [ he/him ]
    >
    SEXUALITY: asexual
    >
    ETHNICITY: hispanic
    >
    NATIONALITY: american

    >
    HEIGHT: 5'11" [ 180cm ]
    >
    GAME MODS: wings

    of all things, the most notable regarding his character is her height.

    anticipating the extent that he'd end up playing the game (especially if it were anything like ALFA's other games) & not wanting to come out of long sessions disoriented, elias elected for his in-game character to share his irl height. as a result, his faerie's limbs are awkwardly stretched to accommodate this; even his race's native areas aren't suited for the decision in character making. lore-wise, it's a miracle she wasn't culled at birth or whatever faeries do; he's never been a big story buff.

    besides this, elias' faerie character is the understandable product of a young man. her sliders were carelessly decided in a way that appealed to him at a glance.

    [ Through laughter: "Don't — don't judge me. Faerie is the strongest class — sorry, race — in the game right now. I tried the male model & it just... I can't." ]


    light grey eyes & dark curls reflect a dull, grey-lavender. countlessly layered, her hair at her longest point reaches her midback. adorning her head are feathered, twin hairpieces. shrouded by fringe are similarly twinned wings behind her ears that mirror those at her back: water-damaged & translucent, general wear at their ends with a dark venation.
Code by Nano
 
adelaide
Furse
In summertime on Bredon, the bells they sound so clear; round both the shires they ring them in steeples far and near, a happy noise to hear. Here of a Sunday morning my love and I would lie, and see the coloured counties, and hear the larks so high about us in the sky. The bells would ring to call her in valleys miles away; "Come all to church, good people; good people come and pray." But here my love would stay. And I would turn and answer among the springing thyme, "Oh, peal upon our wedding, and we will hear the chime, and come to church in time." A tree on Bredon Hill, a lonely tree stands on Bredon Hill, but when the snows at Christmas on Bredon top were strown, my love rose up so early and stole out unbeknown and went to church alone.
01
basic information
name
adelaide Furse
aka
miss furse, addy
gender
female
age
thirty-two (32)
date of birth
october 20th, 1894
position
caretaker
theme
02
appearance
height
5'8"
hair
blonde
eyes
grey

A woman of above average stature with an angular build softened by the ruffles & frills of her uniform. Adelaide often walks with a bowed head, hiding away grey eyes whose lower scleral show; as a result of her height, she often slumps. It doesn't help that her pastime before the war was spent hunched over a drafting board & now over flat tables whenever mending clothing. Stress has taken a toll on her & presents itself within her physique; her hair, her brows, her nails... all thin & frail. Her skin especially so, particularly pallid. At nights, her maid's cap comes off with a considerable amount of stray, blonde hairs. Despite this, she is sensible about maintaining her appearance. Trust her to dedicate perhaps an hour of out her week to head into the town's salon for a trim of her strategically cut bob: mindfully layered to give the allusion of fullness.
03
personality
hobbies
Drawing, movies, & designing clothing.
interests
fashion & art

From afar, the best word to describe Adelaide is regular. Carries herself well enough, minimizes her presence, is often even a bit stiff. Within areas off limits to children, where only peers can hear her, her poor nature gets the better of her. It's not uncommon that she explodes at a display of incompetence, as she loses her patience quite quickly. She's a rather straightforward person with little tolerance for nonsense. In truth, frustration boils up inside her quite easily & it's only in these brief moments that she allows herself some release; managing her anger isn't within her interest.

Towards the children, however, she's gentle & calm. Quick to offer a mending to their clothing & busy herself with that. In this way, she's quite kind with them. She'll tolerate any curious lines of thinking they might have with extraordinary patience & sometimes even interest. When it comes to a child, it's as though the whimsy of her younger self possesses her to entertain & soothe children. She'll gladly offer a doodle of whatever they'd like, perhaps even a trick shot into the bin.

Despite this, her voice still comes evenly, with her characteristic dull cadence, even in moments like those; the only time it doesn't is when she's lost her patience. As a whole, she can come across as gloomy because of this voice.

In her time at Lockheed, she's experienced more bad things than good come from the oddities of children & her peers. To her knowledge, she's managed to fend off this infliction. She feels as though oddities are something of an illness, something to be cured, so she has little tolerance for them. At first, she felt wonderfully curious towards them, but now... she knows better.
04
backstory
trauma points
Fears her own incompetence, relics of wartime, & coughing.
warning: parent death, miscarriage

Daughter of a single mother, it went without saying that her autumn birth was something of a miracle in a tenement that struggled to keep warm.

Her rearing was regular. School was a bit lonesome, as she was rather testy with her peers even back then; schoolwork came easily to her, so it frustrated her when it did not for others. Come 16, she'd graduated without issue & without much to do afterwards. Her mother coddled her & expected nothing of her, leaving her to do as she pleased. She'd find herself spending her days within their city, idling & humoring herself to whatever whim crossed her. Often, those whims led her to libraries & booksellers that tolerated her loitering; admittedly, she didn't do much reading, rather looking at the illustrations & cartoons that accompanied children's books or weekly editions. After enough visits, she earned herself a seat behind the help counter: an opportunity to doodle for passersby who checked out. In reality, a means to free up the desk for those who came to study.

It wasn't long before her ability was noticed, particularly by the little girl whose father apparently edited at a bookselling & publishing house. It took a couple months of them passing by, but eventually their interactions became this: the two would come in after the father's work, the little girl would stretch her chin up to the counter & ask for whatever held her fancy that day. By the time she came back to the counter to check out, Adelaide would have a few little drawings ready for her; often a goodhearted attempt at whatever was asked of her & then two complementary (see: apologetic) doodles of flowers that came out much better.

Come the day when her father extended an invitation to visit his work, Adelaide was first tasked with creating complementary illustrations for women's pieces. Dresses, character portraits, sometimes baked goods... She passed her time comfortably & even was offered a formal position within the company by the time she was 18. Albeit for laughable pay, but she was young & nothing made her happier than keeping a collection of works she'd drawn for, if only a flower on a single page. It amazed her to see the differences in how she recalled drawing a piece & how the engravers ended up carving her lines out.

When war broke out two years later, her assignments became assisting full-page illustrators at work with their shading; they'd draw the lines & she'd hatch out the form. It was only a year later that she'd apply for nurse's training. Admittedly, she felt as though she could've been doing more; for as many pages of propaganda she'd help produce, often even being tasked to help with the engravings, she felt helpless. With loose morals, she easily had documentation forged to say she would be 25 by the following month, the minimum age for nurses. By no means did she fool anyone, but she was accepted to a hospital close to home nonetheless.

In those years, her idle expression was that of pleasant mirth. Having spent her life doodling for children & living comfortably, for those who've lived through worse since the war, the sight of her was one for sore eyes. A wide-eyed, rosy girl that carried out her training well? Within three years, she'd been recommended to a base station in the Western Front. Her mother was the first to hear the news, as she didn't have much of a social life within the hospital. She was kind enough with the other nurses but, again, when something came easily to her, it sometimes didn't for others &, again, it frustrated her, so she kept her distance. Not to mention, she was still only a girl at heart back then; the only difference between her schooling & hospital days was the uniform she wore; she still bounded home for a warm meal all the same, if only with a more controlled step as she grew older.

In spite of the scolding that came with it, Adelaide would often slip into her mother's bed after particularly grueling shifts. In doing this, it's like she's still a schoolgirl, coming home from a lackluster exam or a day of light teasing; all her worries wash away & her morning comes as it always does, leaving her refreshed & able to take on the day ahead. She'd never speak of the occasional horrors she saw, but it seemed her mother understood without it being said; mothers always did, she supposed.

Upon deployment, this could no longer be the case. For the first time, Adelaide was alone. It first settled in one particularly gruesome night, a couple weeks in. After doting on a young boy with an awful blow to his abdomen, providing company & listening of his plans after the war, all to step out into the breakroom in tears later that afternoon, when his hand relaxed for a final time in hers. There was an unspoken rule among the nurses to stifle oneself, so her tears came in silent, gasping breaths. It had all become too much for her, too many weeks of choked sobs. Letters were nice, but there truly was no home to return to that night. Compounded that with her useless mind cementing that boy earlier died before a stranger, far from home.

By the end of her fifth month, she'd found a routine. It was aided by a particular postman, who'd frequent the hospital during deliveries. Youth she was, the sight of him filled her with butterflies. It wasn't long before their love story played out & she wound up late. That month, she received word of her mother's passing & applied to take leave from her post almost immediately, leaving him none the wiser. Their pregnancy, her mother... At the time, it was a feat to even repeat aloud the news to her station's manager. Sometimes she wonders what became of her love.

Sometimes she wonders what might've become of her life had she never left home. Looking back, she's not proud of the naivety of her younger years; she's grown quite proud of her self-sufficiency, but... she does wonder. The immediate week back, the guilt overcame her. By the end of the week, she'd become "sick" again. This time, of course, her body had taken an awful toll. Chills, expulsions, but she soon enough make a well-enough recovery. Now without mother or child to come, she felt truly alone & the reality sent her mind into a dark haze.

In her time back, she'd attempted to return to work at the publishing house. It seemed that her change in demeanor was too great &, as a result of recent news, was a bit too unsettled. She was let off. The next couple of years were spent idling, taking up odd jobs wherever her whim guided her. Particularly, she developed an interest in letter writing for patients at the hospital she had once volunteered at. As always, she'd offer little doodles of whatever they requested.

In 1922, Lockheed finds her.
05
relationships
wip! T_T

colette - One of the girl's mother figures. Adelaide oversaw her recovery upon being sent to Lockheed last year. Her background as a nurse, combined with her extraordinary patience, allowed her to help the girl adjust to life at Lockheed. Colette, along with Abigail, often stop by Adelaide's usual place at one of the studies; they'd come sit with her to sew, draw, & other things of the like. It's said that wherever Adelaide is, the other two are often close behind.
doris - Adelaide... tolerates Doris. Their views on oddities are polar opposites & Doris' range of sounds often upset Adelaide, but it's manageable. When Adelaide

As head maid, Doris is definitely her superior, so Adelaide's scolding eases up when it comes to her. When Adelaide initially came to Lockheed, the girl often tried to
mac -
mateo -


06
last words
Oddity
True Aim

The ability to never miss. Blindfolded, handicapped, she can perfectly place whatever her will desires. Truthfully, Adelaide doesn't realize she's developed this skill since coming to Lockheed. In her daily life, it often goes unnoticed. Her ability to sew in absolutely straight lines, to place her pencil with otherworldly precision... the result of years of practice, surely. Of course, it's not often that she's throwing things, is it?
07
extras
1.
Back as an illustrator, her drawings were... cute. Certainly an attempt at realism, but often landed into simple doodles. Nowadays, though she's able to render things near perfectly from real life... her creativity's gone; there's no more whimsy to her art. It's a cold still of reality.

2.
Sometimes, she dreams an alternate reality where she comes home to find her mother ill. Despite her best efforts, her beloved mother still passes but, at least this time, its in Adelaide's arms within the week of coming home. These dreams comes to her vividly; she's able to kiss her mother's forehead & thank her. She thanks her for waiting.
The mornings after that dream often go slowly. The dream's reoccurred so often that, even to this day, sometimes she'll wake up mistaking it for a memory; those days are the easiest to manage.
code by @Nano
 
Retalis Concordia Legions
Angel Salvatierra
HANDLER: Gell
Male / Echo / 25
Machine Savant | FSF TERESA
Nov. 9, 2139 / Neo-CDMX
PWR Stats
Physique
◆◆◆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇ [03/10]
willpower
◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◇◇ [08/10]
resonance
◆◆◆◆◇◇◇◇◇◇ [04/10]
Overview
codename
SERAPH

A jaded, ex-golden boy. It wasn't too long ago that his image looped on holoboards across Andlang, reciting messages of hope from FSF TERESA's angel. The fortress' morale campaign videos eventually reaching the rest of Andlang. Beyond, if licensing allowed. Now, nothing but a memory since the uprising.
Physical Identifiers
A man of average stature, standing at 5'10". His ID pictures a younger man with his same blond hair & mismatched eyes, but with a chin held high & soft expression. These days, it's a half-lidded, lopsided grin & a slouch. Though he performs well enough in combat, there's a gauntness about him that he deliberately hides away in standard issue body armor, even off-duty.
Personality
An auxiliary unit often rotated through teams, Angel's teams are often debriefed of a recent accident of his & authorized to restrain him whenever necessary. He supposes he's always lived on a leash, but it's only now that he sees it. These days, he's less an angel & more a caged bird - a tool. An expensive one at that. Before his accident, he was a tolerant, earnest soldier with an interest of putting forth his best foot. Assignment after assignment, that performance slips more & more & he lets it.

One to leave caution to the wind, easily seduced by whims. He speaks with little reservation in the interest of his own amusement, though his outward apathy hardly shows it. There's nothing more entertaining than undoing the strait-lace of rigid teams through agitation or coquetry. It's not like he'll see them again, after all. If he does, they've been mixed & matched into other quilted teams who've also suffered losses. There's nothing to laugh at on the frontlines, so he likes to humor himself outside of them whenever he can.

As his only real hold over it, he tends to make light of his downfall. It's not often, as most could care less, but for the few that outwardly recognize him, he enjoys that drop in their face when he shatters expectations. In the past, he entertained them, exuding an air of that noble angel of hope on soda cans. Now, he'll chug one & blow eructed air at them for asking.

Subject to mania, without external stimuli to stir him, Angel can also be a quiet presence. Before calamity, he'd always been a perceptive man of introspection. It was his rearing as a politician's son that endowed him with a sharp mind for justice & egalitarianism; that mind, whose views tended to oppose its creator's, driving a rift between the two; that rift, instilled in Angel the need for approval, one which persists even today in self-image awareness. Trust a son to cast his father's shadow.

He leaves his heart on the battlefield, fueled by his ardor for duty. For as long as he's been a soldier, that's always been the case but, these days... there's a venom to it. He's always been a hothead when it came to his views, as he's prone to frustration & fighting against opposition, but he's always had the heart to dampen it. That's gone now or at least his patience to do so is. He's intolerant of his teammates errors, while painfully aware of his own; missions with him are not without cynical quips on the light side & outright verbal abuse on the heavier. One who, recently, has realized his outbursts have little repercussion. He could scream a teammate's head off & only get reassigned the following day; for as much of a hazard as he is, he gets results.

Angel suffers a consistent barrage of disembodied voices while conscious, characteristic of Echoes ever since the sky fell. They don't speak suggestions to him, though he'll say they do to get a reaction, but rather create a constant dissonance within his head. Thousands of echoes of the past haunting his every waking moment with him as their only audience. These voices tangle with his own thoughts, rendering him reliable on only what he sees. Though, even then, a delusional parasitosis haunts his vision; an irrational delusion of WISPs crawling out of his skin, characterized by formication & him itching at these tactile hallucinations.

At night is when his broken psyche really announces itself as he possesses sundown syndrome, or an increased sensitivity to confusion & anxiety in the late afternoon, lasting well into the night. In reaction, he becomes easily aggressed & intolerant of direction, pacing or wandering to soothe his own self. It's at these times that, if he's on base, he'll overwhelm himself with simulations at those odd hours of a given day to get out of his own head. If you'd ask him, it's only training.

There's no shortage of gossip pertaining to the corruption of TERESA's angel. Though, in this regard, it's less a corruption but more a recent reality that there'd never been a "good" Echo; he'd just always bothered to mask his symptoms.
Background
EARLY LIFE

Son of a single father, born into a family of politicians, Angel's upbringing was a more-than-comfortable one. His extended family's combined wealth & investment ventures within Lex Sanitas made them easily one of the richest within Neo-CDMX. When SIN first begun mass production, the Salvatierras were one of the first to sponsor this effort. As a result, Angel & his father were also of the first recipients of SIN; Angel being one of the youngest, still only a child at the time. His father campaigned for the accessibility of SIN within Neo-CDMX, promising government collaboration for subsidized SIN healthcare. At the time, these efforts were well-received.

Youngest of the family, Angel's childhood memories are filled with him sitting out of family gatherings, preferring to sprawl across a couch too big for him, playing handheld games while the adults talked politics. When he was old enough to begin understanding, he'd sit in on these conversations &, as kids often do, grew to be the little contrarian within the family. He was cute back then, enough to be offhandedly interviewed during one of his father's public events. When he was expected to say something cute as a candidate's child, Angel instead recalled the unethical sourcing of nanity manufacture. Never again. After that day, he was forbidden from public speaking. At least, during his father's events. On his own, he gained some local popularity as an environmental advocate during his teenage years. These views were popular among Neo-CDMX's youths & his rallies were always under his family's protection, due to their influence. As much of a sore point his public views were for the family & his father, he was always looked after.

SHATTERED HEAVENS

Still, no amount of power, money, or influence could've prevented what Angel saw the day the world shattered. To this day, it haunts his subconscious. He was 18 then.

He'd been out the entire day after a falling out with his father that morning. Angel, always the prodigal son, had come home only for dinner. Angel had been at the table, mindlessly flipping through flashcards, with his father in the kitchen when the rumbling first began. Any device with a holoscreen gave notice of a tremor & at the warning, they'd taken shelter under the table. There'd been no tremor, just a deep sound from the floorboards.

It was odd, he remembered. Of the exact moment, Angel had no recollection, just a skipping sequence of memory that played out of order. In one, he watched his father's proportions stretch by the smallest margin. In another, he sees his father's mouth saying something that doesn't reach his ears. In others, there's countless details of the single instant prior that play different each time in his recollection. All before a spurt of red consumes his vision & the rest plays out as it did in reality. His ears had popped at the sound. He'd seen the whole thing & could only sit in horror for a moment, blinking at the sudden empty space before him. A warmth soaked him initially - soaked the walls & the underside of the table he occupied - before cooling to a haunting chill. As the space was small, he'd been holding onto his father's arm when the rumbling began. Angel had looked down in horror when he then realized that was still true.

To this day, he can recall that morning's argument. Sometimes, he dreams of an alternate reality where he comes home earlier. Regardless of how many times he's dreamed it, the heavens & his father still shatter but, at least this time, he's apologized for the morning & helped out with dinner. Things of the like. These dreams comes to him vividly; he's able to hug his father prior.
The mornings after that dream often go slowly. The dream's reoccurred so often that, even to this day, sometimes he'll wake up mistaking it for a memory; those days are the easiest to manage.

AFTERMATH

In the immediate weeks that followed, outrage broke out against the government who'd distributed SIN & Lex Sanitas for conceiving the idea. What remained of Neo-CDMX's politicians were executed in blind retribution. In passing, Angel overheard a remaining news outlet cover the execution of an aunt who he'd known to have been an executive within Lex. He watched her death in the street be streamed on a flickering holoboard.

Angel's surname came with unease, but forgiven for his youth. With little else to turn to, he joined a refuge community that later would become FSF TERESA. Before that, he'd become one of the many community leaders within what remained of Neo-CDMX. As there was little interest in trusting an 18 year-old to handle public relations, he did what he could elsewhere & led excavation efforts of nearby Megaliths. Any able-bodied person that could helped to gather this material that'd later be sold to neighboring communities for resources. It wasn't long before the megacorporation Lex Sanitas took notice. Funds were steadily funneled into their community. With this shift, Angel took up arms with the local militia which had formed to, initially, control civilian uprisings, but now to keep Lex Sanitas' representatives in check.

CORRUPTANTS

With the corruptants who appeared a year or two later, came Lex Sanitas & their endeavor to establish FSF TERESA as a base to fend off these creatures. Their militia had little success in fending them (or Lex Sanitas) off themselves, so it was formally converted to an RCL division &, in their urgency to mobilize, Angel's militia was approved for Metaphasium. It was a little exciting, he remembered; this sentiment that they'd become soldiers for the community brought a light air within the group. In their time together since Shattered Heavens, Angel had grown close to his squad & couldn't help but share their sentiment.

The process failed, initially.

For Angel, this simply meant a rescheduling. He'd felt relatively fine after the first failure, but was kept in quarantine until his procedure date & even for a couple days after a succesful Metaphasium process. It was a poor intern that came into his dorm one day to update him on his squad's status.

Again, it was odd, he remembered. Of the exact moment, Angel again couldn't remember exactly what he'd heard. Something about SIN, about his being an Inherent, how the others couldn't handle some crystal, how there'd be a ceremony held later that week. The words said were lost on him, but the meaning couldn't be clearer. In his rage, a white fragment of something shot toward the kid. They couldn't have been much older than himself, but Angel couldn't forget how scared they'd looked; it was like looking at a child who'd seen a ghost.

As instantly as the thought to bring harm to the intern came, so did regret. A white wall constructed itself before the intern to block the perceived projectile. Before Angel could make any sense of what'd happened, a sting struck him at the neck.

A NEW LIFE

It was a week later that he woke up. He was given a debrief on his situation & the incident, in simple terms: his friends had passed away during the process. He'd shot one & then a mass of WISP at the intern. (He later bought the kid a protein bar as an apology.) That was all there was to say, they'd told him. Alongside him sat Resonators like him. His new team, he was told, but not to get too attached.

The particular RCL branch in TERESA carried out a rotation system when it came to the few Inherent Resonators they had; they believed that, if they never needlessly attached themselves to their teammates, they'd never overexert themselves to the point of risking Dissonance. This particular phenomenon startled Angel.

His family had already suffered enough of a fate as a result of SIN. They endorsed what they believed would help the people of Neo-CDMX & it backfired. Understanding this, Angel felt an obligation to not repeat the past. One, to not put anyone in danger of another calamity brought upon by SIN. Two, in memory of his family. Salvatierra had brought enough perceived tragedy; he did not want to add to the stigma that his name brought.

Without so much as a chance to mourn the loss of the single closest thing he'd had to a family since the cataclysm, he was deployed with a new squadron. So began the rest of his life. A life of overscheduled missions, of persistent voices of lost comrades, & of endured smiles. Angel became the model Echo, obedient & self-controlled. Whatever asked, he did. Whenever called to duty, he answered, fatigue be damned. As a result of his frequency in appearing on missions & his knack for public image, he began something of a popular figure within his sanctum. A people's soldier. A redeemed Salvatierra. The angel of TERESA. A good Echo.

THE ACCIDENT

Until he wasn't.
Combat
Primary Armament | Empyrean's Edge
A polearm weapon with a sharp head, embedded with KIRT technology. Modified for Machine Savant use, capable of withstanding sudden self-inflicted attachments of WISPs to aid in combat, ranging from creating a mallet of WISP, lengthening the head for more range, or increasing its lacerating ability through the WISPs' power.

Equip 1 | Full-body Active LEX Performance Suit, Series 6
 Undergone countless user-specific alterations over the years. A standard-issue powered exoskeleton suit for military use, sponsored by megacorp Lex Sanitas & characterized by its green light. Lightweight in nature, allowing for full range of movement at the cost of protection. Can withstand reasonable mission-typical damage, its durability increasing with every series - Angel's being the second-most recent. Capable of propulsion in any given direction twice an hour.

Equip 2 | LEX Shield Tetrix Attachment
 A set of four KIRT cybernetic appendages. When commanded, emit or retract an energy shield from each. Capable of reliably sustaining medium damage; for heavier damage or impact, they require overnight recharge. The shields are flexible in nature, able to concave in defense or swat away small enemies.

Hand-sized attachments towards the upper back of Angel's exosuits, each with the appearance of a little wing, connecting to the response network built within. Active, the energy shields emitted have a wingspan of 10'. Built of overlapping feather-like hard energy to construct two sets of wings at the user's back, though incapable of flight. As a result of their connection to the LEX suit, the shields emitted glow green. Angel doesn't even like green.

Skill Flair
 Angel is a quick damage dealer who attacks in heavy-hitting bursts.

As a result of his fragility, he'll stay out of the fray either by use of cover or high ground above the field until he sees an opening. When he does, he'll plunge in with great velocity & slash through enemies. He'll drop in on an enemy, using his shields to increase his cross-sectional area & slow his descent, if necessary, at the cost of losing out on initial burst damage. His suit's propulsion is often used to disengage.

When it comes to his weapon, he's able to throw it & command WISP to recall it for him.

CODEBREAKER | CIELOS DESTROZADOS
Take me home.

The theoretical manifestation of Angel's desire to return to a life before calamity. In a last ditch effort, Angel overwhelms his Resonance by summoning all WISP in a given radius & commands them to circle a given mass of enemies. A dome is constructed to encase them, with visions of the sky, the clouds, & heavens above reflected across its rippling structure. Contained in this mass, the enemies are subjected to a deep rumbling of latent WISP below the earth that can be felt even beyond. Then, in an instant, everything shatters. The burst of Resonance-powered energy echoes the disembodied voices of Angel's mind - their agony, joy & relief all in dissonance.

As it's only mimicry of Shattered Heavens, the reality is that particles are at such a high-energy that a lacerating storm is devastating whatever's within the dome. The aftermath of this manifestation recreates a similar scene of Angel's youth, painting the surrounding area in spilled gore.
Extras
"No autographs."

SKILLS
Public speaking, negotiation, Resonator combat training


PLAYLIST


SAMPLE
There was her answer.


First wrinkled by twitching hand during conversation & then snaffled snugly, yes, she supposed that was what he'd thought of it. A souvenir, how one pockets a particularly smooth stone found during an outing. A curious oddity of nature to be plucked from the earth & set on the windowsill of a bedroom. That was all. Lamely, she could only think, with eyes lightly fixed at his breast, I drew that. Now it lay soiled, smudged, creased, & stowed like a receipt. Idly, having devoted herself as a children's maid for the last three months, she thought, That'll stain. He'd have to clean that pocket later. Or she, if she saw it in the laundry later.

Else what, she had mumbled with sharp tongue in response to something Makoto had said, but now she knew. As if she'd been caught passing notes in class, Mr. Madiyarov was scolding her & she suddenly felt very small, as if she'd shrank beyond her own perception. Without children around, there was an odd reality to her appearance in that moment. The wickedness that fueled the frills of her sleeves & apron deflated, her stillness allowed them to lay flatly onto her pointed frame, pronouncing a dress that now felt ill-fitted. It draped much too loosely on her body, swallowing her as if she'd stood inside it on a clothesline, her pointed shoulders as the pins it hung by. When one thought caretaker, round, kind features tended to come to mind. Adelaide was none of this.

She felt too small. This room was too big. Makoto was too close. And now he offered her money. The sight, initially stoked a comfortable flame within her. It dissipated, thought, at the memory it conjured.
For a long moment or two, she could only hold her tongue at the sight of the pounds. It held her full attention, like her teacher really had called her out into the hall. There were three, she'd noticed. Without holding them, that's how many could be seen & she was rather sure of it. By reflex of her past, her wrist lurched up from her side until her mind caught on & stifled the motion. Just as quickly, she looked at her own hand, seemingly insulted by its ability to act without her knowledge.

This much was enough to put her household at ease, she had noted. Her brows gave gentle rise at this. In finding work & board under Lockheed, money hadn't crossed her mind once. Still, she rationed the body never forgot. She'd never lived uncomfortably, her mother made sure, but children always knew & Adelaide had been no exception. Her mother was clever in her storytelling, but no amount of imagination could warm a little girl on cold nights.

Like a little girl, Adelaide too daydreamed then; it was only a moment, but the image of her young mother counting banknotes on the kitchen table was enough for Adelaide to bite her lip at it. It'd been a long time that she thought of a day that wasn't tomorrow; as a realist, one always tends to forget themselves in the everyday. It was impractical to think of the past, she'd come to learn over the years. Particularly impractical at evening time. When hours passed as minutes & morning came ceaselessly, day after day. To wake was a bottle-ache with no beer. Apart from her temper, tardiness tended to be what landed her in fresh air. Here with no commute, with strict routine, & with children expecting her; it was easy to wake up. So when Makoto's offer of money brought forth memory of her mother, Adelaide too faltered as he had earlier.
Her lips parted as if to speak - to remedy this all, to return their dynamic to a time before the ink spill - but to lift her tongue at that moment then felt like a gargantuan task that she couldn't manage. There was nothing to say. Too much had been said already. If she spoke now, she'd surely warble, a clenched throat warned her. Even if by a gesture that she'd seen actors take acted offense towards in movies - that perhaps she should too - Makoto had apologized. His wrong, in her mind, was cleared, but here she was: with inconvenient memories, bothering this near-stranger, in a room too big, Makoto too close. A pit welled in her empty stomach, reminding her afternoon tea was soon. All this & she'd still not finished cleaned. The dust that had fascinated her earlier now reminded her only of her incompetence.

All this time, a heat rose to her cheeks, threatening towards her eyes. After the long moment or two, in spite of her interest of responding properly, Adelaide could only wonder miserably, "What am I going to do with this?"

As promised, her voice wavered. Involuntarily, she blinked & down split the warmth. Simultaneous in both eyes, only a single tear in each. Oh, for fuck's sake, Adelaide gave an inward huff & wiped irritably at one cheek. In quick motion, she now gently held the book to her chest, having pushed back the leaflets offered.

"Never mind," came from her, spiritless. Her words were short & small, "That's quite alright."

CREDIT
CODE /
SEROBLISS
 
font callfont callfont call
iura kōki | he/him

23 | oct 23

handyman

asexual
the dog
to long for a future among people.
井浦昂輝
"and many, many words are expressed by a dog’s eyes."​
height | 183 cm (6'0")
hair | blond.
straight & dense, despite curling ends. overgrown sides & fringe that falls over his eyes; occasionally pushed back & parted fashionably.
eyes | light brown/amber.
build | heavy-boned. sturdy, broad-shouldered, & muscular. physique shrouded in oversized tops; tendency to dress light.
distinguishing features | shedding, pierced ears, & one mole just below his lip.
zodiac features | akita inu.
under stress, thick & pointed dog's ears poke out from his crown, likely pinned back from stress. a double-coated, curled-over tail flops out in an effort to cower between his legs. his nails' tips sharpen to a dull, dark point & his canines grow out; the brown of his eyes darken.
personality | his face at rest is one with an idle grin about it, as though he were stuck squinting at the sun. his voice & word choice is one with an easiness about it, albeit one seldom heard. in conversation, he'd rather listen; though, perhaps watching being more appropriate — his most common interaction is one to call him from a daydream; it's not uncommon for his gaze to drift toward the abyss. if there were one word to describe him, it's nonchalant: equable in the best ways; apathetic in the worst. one to watch backs, but miss eyes in favor for clouds.
as it's easy to excuse that grin as one for good weather, it's on particularly overcast days that he's best seen. in passing, he's unlikely to be caught alone as he's never often far from a crowd. caught alone, he's a habit of pacing or seemingly generally anxious. for as much interest he has in the presence of others, he's never too attached; if ever situationally appropriate, he'd best prefer keeping a couple paces ahead or behind of company. he finds little pleasure in engagement, preferring opportunity to people watch. communication is his poorest regard, with his riches being in action.
as characteristic of man's best friend, he's honest to a fault & easily swayed by affection. afflicted by nausea at the thought of deceit. similarly, though it's rare for his alignment to make itself apparent, he's drawn to it like a magnet — loyal. altruism & investment in others comes easily to him; a great feat it'd be for him to consider himself, as he'd rather volunteer his person for someone else's sake. indecision & irresolution plagues him, though masked by his airiness. with him, it's easy to feel at ease as all he asks for is one's presence. that said, he's not the most affectionate & would prefer his distance. to attain this, it's not above him to bite or push buttons as needed. with investment, comes observation; the absurdity of what impassions others does tend to amuse him.
early childhood | born only son to split parents, expedited by the visit of god's servants. left to single father whose occupation then bore no means to support a toddler; that father a drifter who bunkered down for the sake of a child he couldn't hold.
his earliest years were a great stretch of time where the curse greatly disturbed him. what fragmented memory he has of a family besides his father is blurred by snout & muffled by whining. without function to understand or form meaningful memory then, all he knew was the great absence of a mother by his own doing.
life with that father was pleasant, save for school. by then, he'd outgrown his reluctance to transform, if only at home. instead, he'd now come home to lunge toward his father's arms every so often after school.
the thing was this: his father made no effort to reveal his son's host status. in turn, kōki took it upon himself to preserve that sanctity. to keep to himself was a great effort exerted by him at that time; a little boy took only so much.
at seven, he'd slip up once at school & never more. word had gotten out. another kid caught kōki's form from behind & collapsed onto a shivering, flaxen pup who'd squealed from impact.
the incident had nearly been contained to his class, were it not for the gossip that'd trickled into the months that followed. try as staff may, it took press only following home the few blond students for them to one afternoon knock on kōki's door for an interview.
he'd been alone when he answered, as his father was out for some errand — intentional, on the press' behalf. nausea came first, following by stress that flooded the apartment's hallway in the form of golden clouds, caused by the simple question of there being a dog in class & left another shivering, golden pup in its wake. the reporter crew, far from saint & monsters, left his exact name out of reports — leaving it at: "dog zodiac's host identified in hokkaido prefecture."
of course, this did little to deter solicitors that'd learned of him from the information sold by the press; offers of all kinds came to their doorstep — talk show invitations, sponsorships, modeling gigs, commercial appearances.
it grew to a point where even kōki's father was experiencing harassment at work. it was then that the countdown towards kōki's thirteenth birthday began & it was then the latter offer attracted the attention of a kid often attached to the tv. a pathway into child acting had been paved for the pup.
countdown toward 13 | exactly when still eludes kōki, but there'd been a shift in his father's demeanor toward his curse. before everything, he'd come home bounding into his father arms & now, after a couple shoots, he'd done the same. this time, instead only to be scolded & shrugged aside.
by the time koki had gotten into his double digits, his life had become this: morning shoots, supplementary schooling, practice, & home. acting sustained their family for a good long while. enough so that when kōki left, his father's necessities would have been taken cared of for a year or two. perhaps back home, even more.
by then, they'd moved to shibuya to suit koki's career. back home, koki had always been something of a downer in his persistent effort to conceal his nature; now out, his nature rivaled the sun. an exuberance carried his career's opportunities, as he often got along well with cast & crew.
by now, his father had fully shifted from parent to manager. their interactions now were through rearview mirror & affection seldom initiated by either party. life now was static. without warning, he'd lived the same year five times over when god's servants came knocking. he never did have his big break. still, for the first time in ages, his father tugged koki back for one final hug just at the doorway.
and he was off.
compound | in his first couple of months since joining the compound, he'd become spoiled from that final act of affection prior to his arrival.
it was around this time that he'd learn of the exception regarding his zodiac's neighbors & god — finding proximity without consequence incredible. he had a reputation of seeking out his zodiac's neighbors & god. only a young boy then & growing touch-starved, he'd linger around whoever permitted him & hugged whichever of the three gave in — even after the initial culture shock, he still hovered by those particular three in the hopes of an cashing in what was quickly growing to be a hug allowance.
a creature of habit, koki easily fell into a comfortable routine rather quickly. at the time, it was a mix of finally slowing down after years on nonstop work & an over-eagerness to find a home after being swept from his.
at the compound, offers for jobs still came in. with permission & heavy vigilance, he'd take them infrequently. without a manager, he'd get an opportunity about once or twice a year growing up. by the time he was in his last couple of years in high school, they'd dried off as a result of his detachment from the entertainment industry & his reluctance to accept; his school's attendance now threatening a repeated year.
life now | indecision disrupted the meaningful development of any one particular interest of him. he'd had instances of pursuing acting, music, art, academics, sports, & any other discipline that momentarily held his attention. as a result, he'd graduated with the sole plan & interest of employment. when he graduated, he forewent higher education in the interest of job hunting & came across a multitude of odd jobs that he familiarly bounced between.
currently, he's landed on one in particular where his father still works. he's never made attempt to speak to him, but he's stuck around regardless. he still lives at the compound with whoever else lingers, but used to have an apartment initially after turning 18. he's since returned after a rent increase.
thoughts on the curse's truth | though he'd rather not, he's adjusted to the growing permanence of dogs' features. on sleepless nights, he visualizes his life ahead & whatever troubles him at the time drifts away; there's little to concern oneself with without thumbs in three months' time.
already, a part of him has always felt as though his human experience thus far had been one on loan — as though this life's never been his, rather someone else's whose vision he's had the opportunity of borrowing. when faced with spells & fate, who is he to argue what's been decided lifetimes ago? though, if asked, the truth is he longs for a future of his own. one where he's among others without feeling like a visitor. still, somewhere he knows that his feeling wouldn't go away with his curse — it's for this reason that he doesn't lament his circumstance.
for as much of a bother it's been, koki believes his curse has been the easiest to bear — to be the animal closest to man. of anyone, he believes his life ahead's been laid out the simplest. the same can't be said for the others. he won't scorn opposition toward fates — maybe he would too, were he something else.
trivia | food-motivated. prefers colder weather.
night owl
 















































  • there ain't no rest for the wicked.












    appearance











    height

    5'10"






    weight

    ♡






    hair c.

    brown






    eye c.

    brown












    hair styling

    thick. short, middle-parted bangs; bleached underlayer + stress-whites; kept longer toward the back.






    build

    considerably built; strong upper body.






    body mods.

    tattooed snake at neck & upper body. miscellaneous, patch-work tattoos along arms. pierced left brow. vertical labret piercing. mirrored ear piercings: triple-pierced lobes, a double tragus, & a double helix. close-up: ♡

    chipped nail polish.






    faceclaim

    art by uneventide on twitter
















































♡coded by uxie♡

 
fontcall
raquel
twenty-nine (29)
⋮
female (she/her)
⋮
nov 11
⋮
asexual
⋮
sinnoan
physical
hair
blonde + green
eyes
turquoise
height
5'3"
⋮
160cm
background
fears
hypochondriac
⋮
bug pokémon
dreams
to manage other coordinators
secrets
will occasionally cry out of fear of falling ill again
⋮
idol super fan
PERSONALITY+
animated
⋮
resourceful
⋮
dedicated
personality-
dependent
⋮
worrisome
⋮
cowardly
Backstory
Born to hypochondriac parents in the town of Floaroma, Raquel lived within her childhood room's walls. The world was one just outside her window, but out of reach as she had a habit of coughing fits. Being inside all day, she never got much of an opportunity to build up her constitution; she’d hang onto the arms of others when she walked & tended to dizzy easily. At the time, her parents were young professionals who would occasionally be out of the house. It was for this reason that her parents would wind up “employing” a young Chansey to look after her.
With this new playmate, Raquel now hardly longed to go outside. Her world with Chansey—quickly nicknamed Lady—was one she had been wholly content with until that fateful day when she’d first see a live Pokémon contest come on TV. It was then that, the next time Lady would care for her, Raquel felt a genuine longing to show off her friend who—in tucking her in at night—shone just as brilliantly as the Pokémon she’d seen on TV.
Raquel wanted to show the world.
It was in this way that Raquel entered the world of Pokémon coordination. In her teens, when her family had finally weened her off of a quarantined lifestyle, that she’d pursue entry into her hometown’s local contest after a youth spent playing pretend with Chansey & later a Flabébé who she’d met just outside her window—one of the few local Pokémon who didn’t set off her allergies.
Her rise through coordination ranks was a steady one. She never was an outright star in the way that some competitors break into the general public’s eye, but she’s now made a name for herself as a veteran within the coordination community. Nowadays, especially, as she’s since slowed in competing to build up her online community. A staple influencer in the community: an online commentator, analyst, & reporter. When she’s not reporting on the latest happenings within the coordinator world, she’s posting lavish, sponsor-funded lifestyle content.
To this day, Raquel never did build up her strength. Whenever she’s out, she can always be seen with her Blissey at her side, acting escort.
At the moment, she’s on a sponsored trip to Eunoia. The company's logo depicts an Alolan Ninetales, so she's been sent with a loaned Alolan Vulpix to feature in her content. He scratched her in their first video together.
personal
MBTI
esfp
habits
overuses hand sanitizer
⋮
quick to use pet names
hobbies
pokémon spa days
⋮
cosplaying
⋮
coordinator theorycrafting
horoscope
scorpio
alignment
lawful neutral
extra
01
allergic to grass pokémon & moves
02
loves an unnatural lip
03
will sometimes wear a mask during contests
04
hasn't read a book in 4 years
05
is a washed coordinator
pokémon
HOME0670Y.png
veil
lv. 56
#670
Floette
♀
flower veil
⋮
bold
❉
fairy wind
❉
petal dance
❉
safeguard
❉
aromatherapy
HOME0242_s.png
lady
lv. 44
#242
Blissey
♀
natural cure
⋮
calm
❉
light screen
❉
echoed voice
❉
heal pulse
❉
soft-boiled
HOME0037A.png
vulpix
lv. 2
#037
alolan vulpix
♂
snow warning
⋮
timid
❉
powder snow
❉
tail whip
❉
n/a
❉
n/a
fluticasone
 





the civilian.















scroll

carmen



fedra


















01.

full name




carmen sáinz arroyo








02.

age




twenty-nine








03.

sexuality




bisexual




































  • nacer/morir.



    Sin darme cuenta, ya estoy aquí. ¿Cuantas veces he muerto? Sin haber pedido, puedo sentir el regalo de vivir.













♡coded by uxie♡
 
♛ THE SAGE
♛ Dauxine
  • attack
    defense
    speed
    intelligence
    “
    ”
    A curse it is to see the good in others.
    Name
    ♛ Dauxine
    Role
    ♛ THE SAGE
    Gender
    ♛ FEMALE
    Birthday
    ♛ nov 23
    Element
    ♛ HEALING
    Age
    ♛ twenty-six
    Appearance
    ♛HEIGHT: 5'5" (165 cm)
    ♛BUILD: LEAN
    ♛HAIR: PINK
    ♛EYES: BLUE
    ♛IDENTIFYING MARKS: N/A
    Personality
    GENERAL PERSONALITY TRAITS
    ♛ TIMID
    ♛ COWARDLY
    ♛ GOOD-NATURED

    HOW CHARACTER FEELS ABOUT BEING A NOBODY
    ♛ Anxious. Without a heart, Dauxine equates herself to a husk walking — cold & unfeeling. By nature, her actions don't reflect this & the reason for that is self-actualization; her self worth lies in what can be done for others. As a result, her ability to establish relationships is unparalleled for the sake of keeping this anxiety at bay. If she can be useful to others, her lack of a heart weighs less heavily.

    CHARACTER LIKES
    ♛ MEMORY CAPTURE THROUGH PHOTOGRAPHY
    ♛ IDLING IN CASTLE OBLIVION'S HALLWAYS
    ♛ COMBING SYMMETRICAL DESIGNS INTO SAND/DIRT

    CHARACTER DISLIKES
    ♛ CONFLICT & CONFRONTATION
    ♛ THE ANTAGONIZATION OF HEARTLESS
    ♛ EXPECTATIONS PLACED UPON HER
code by Nano
 











más fácil olvidarte.















name

aracely // aka "chef"






age upon death

twenty-five






tenure

4 months






seraphim

strixiel


















vibe








































gender

female (she/her)






height

5'6" (168 cm)






hair

black. kept jaw-length; trimmed haphazardly. purple money pieces.






eyes

mauve. perpetually unamused & half-lidded.






build

broad-shouldered & heavy-boned. tall & full-figured.






distinct marks

mole under her left eye. nails painted black.



































muy lejos




días ácidos











req.

req.














tired of your shit, but never tired of you



Aracely is the type to take care of things & those around her.

After her presumed accidental assignment, Aracely's grown rather comfortable with Regenesis' small group of "employees;" she's not above treating elders as equals, senior only in address. A natural in working people, Aracely knows exactly when to flatter & when to humble in order to get her way. Generally mindful of maintaining her good social perception & tends to volunteer herself for grunt work or maintenance errands, like taking care of miniscule aberrations or picking up supplies. As a result, Aracely's garnered a reputation that precedes herself outside of the hotel. In this regard, she could be perceived as kind, but she's not particularly nice about it. In speech, she's extremely to-the-point & tends to not entertain any attempts at humor.

Caught in a moment to herself, she can be seen with a pensive look about her, as though something were troubling her. The contemplative type, always thinking of the day ahead or mistakes made yesterday.

In reality, she holds a small sliver of resentment towards her circumstance. Initially, she felt so swept up with her orientation that she never gave herself the chance to really take in the gravity of her situation. Now, months later, it's truly begun to set in that her new normal is anything but.

While she was a bit friendlier in life, she's always been this way: too reserved unless she forces herself otherwise. Aracely keeps others at arms' length almost comically. There was once a new agent who tried to invite her out for drinks after work & she famously told them she was allergic to alcohol.

At the same time, her nature grounds her. Her habit of looking over the other, more ill-adjusted agents has landed her the unofficial title of "hotel mom." While definitely one-sided, this feeling of being needed has helped her regain a sense of normalcy.













likes


the feeling of jewelry. cool weather. extremely loud music.








dislikes


authority. chipped nail polish. cigarette smell.








habits


thumps on any surfaces available. hits the top of any doorframes when passing through. impulsively alters her appearance.
















pers.

pers.
















life




In life, Aracely was an easily forgotten person.

Aracely was always a quiet girl. Not mysterious by any means, but never the type to go out of her way for others. If approached, her normal responses did seem to relieve her classmates back in school.

In middle school, she was known as a little track star; an impossibly lanky girl with the most uncanny ability to fly past any boy in her grade. In terms of sociability, this is what saved her; everyone liked a kid who was good at something.
Her parents, though, both in psychiatry, thought otherwise. Aracely was expected to focus on her studies, for which she held no ambition. For her parents' sake though, she'd find some; as their only daughter, there wasn't much choice.

The thing was: Aracely wasn't... academically gifted. Her years in school left her without free time & especially without any to dedicate toward track. When she did make it to her top pick, she also of course tried out for their track team; that was her silent compromise to herself. By the end of her first year, though, it went without saying that she'd have to choose between her academics & the team.

Without a club or pastime besides studying, Aracely was still the type where it was easy to fall into a sort of social limbo. After school, she'd idle around the track with her notebook in hand, pretending to study, & watching the athletes run past. In them, faded memory of the younger girls she called friends way back in middle school. Before practice was over, she'd be on her way, idling around the quad before going home.

As a lonely girl away from home, Aracely made it a respectable one month before falling victim to nightlife; particularly, to a flighty food science major in her econ class. Whether she was always the follower type or if this other girl was especially magnetic, Aracely never figured it out.

In the first week of classes, she'd been peer-pressured into joining a study group. They'd meet at the library during the week & go out on the weekends, after big quizzes & assignments. To the degree that—to this day—Aracely can nurse vodka the way one might water. It was at their second outing, when Aracely was debating leaving the chat, that she found herself nursing a vomiting classmate & taking her home.

Thinking back, it's possible the signs were always there. Even if they were, Aracely wouldn't have heeded them. Put simply: when Aracely fell, she did so blindly—concerningly so. To the point where, a semester away from graduating, Aracely was completely blindsided by their break-up.

"Isn't it time we stop fooling around?"

Aracely was never the unserious type, but she obliged: "Right."

To this day, she hasn't come across her again. Her social media says she works in the city, but... no matter how often Aracely goes on missions runs in the area, she hasn't seen her in nearly three years.

By the time her senior year came around, without noticing, Aracely had been left behind to wade water as she completely drowned herself in her studies. It was only when they gave her a new phone as a graduation gift that Aracely saw: in setting up her contacts, she realized the only current contacts she needed were of her mom & dad.

The last time her old phone's address book was updated must've been in her first year.








death



To be frank, it was a matter of carbon monoxide poisoning.

With a degree she'd never cared for, Aracely took the first job that came her way & that didn't directly relate to it. Fresh out of uni, it was a part-time position as a line cook to hold her over in the first couple months afterwards. When, with her qualifications & people skills, the position grew to a sort of assistant manager for the restaurant she worked at; there came a decision to be made: enter white-collar living or stay.

Maybe for the first time in her life, she went against her parents' better judgement (&, admittedly, her own) & stayed in the restaurant. Though she'd never admit it, her proximity to the culinary world made her hold out hope that she'd come by her ex. It was that hope that tethered her there for the next two years until her untimely demise.

The promise she'd made to herself, in pursuing her (arguably) own interests over those of her parents', was that she'd aim to make as much as she would otherwise in the office job that would've awaited her out of university. With that promise, came irredeemably long hours & being perpetually on call. There'd be days when she'd close the restaurant way late & have to get up way early to the point where there was viability in staying over to sleep. Admittedly, the nights were she did were never voluntary.

It was on one of those nights, where the dining area accidentally became her bedroom, that there'd been a gas leak in the restaurant. It was only in the morning when the staff would realize, upon finding Aracely during their opening routine.

—

When she dropped by the restaurant a few months into her tenure as an agent, it would have appeared that it gained a Michelin star, despite there having been an employee death in its vicinity. Everything happens for a reason, she supposed.








now



When she woke, there was nothing that could console her in her first couple weeks of tenure.

Her training as an agent left her with a death wish. Every mission was an opportunity to be relieved of this hell she'd found herself in. Her headfirst method earned herself a reputation of being fearless on the field; one that follows her to this day.

Aracely's since mellowed out, finding routine in her position as chef at Regenesis; her suicidal ideation's since been tempered, leaving in its place a fear of her sands of time running out. As she always did, she found normalcy where she could.

Where there was a bar, there was a kitchen & it was in it that she returned to what she knew.

















???





name here

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Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vestibulum dui eget diam sodales lobortis. Nulla fermentum purus fringilla hendrerit tincidunt. Quisque ullamcorper fringilla augue, a laoreet ligula vehicula vel. Vestibulum laoreet tristique sem, vel malesuada nunc congue quis. Nulla aliquet massa a felis viverra iaculis. Praesent ac tortor quis diam efficitur consequat non id eros. Nullam malesuada quis nisl vitae consequat.













gift

"soul food" — nourishment for the soul, or lack thereof! with this ability, Aracely's able to augment & enhance the powers of her allies. in appearance, she conjures a small disk of lavender essence that can be consumed for a boost of energy. tastes like whatever the recipient is craving at the moment. for its effect to reach full potential, she must be thanked for the provided meal.






regret

having lived a lackluster life, void of choice.













hist.

hist.








scroll














♡coded by uxie♡

 


















// scion.







  • tokkuri yuuji



    徳利雄二



    20XX nov 19



    eighteen



    tokyo, jpn



    male (he/him)




    height
    eyes

    180.5 cm (5'11")
    brown


    blood type
    hair

    O+
    black


    style

    Clean linen, worn denim, & sneakers.

    His everyday style doesn't vary too drastically from the way he wears his school uniform: unbuttoned & accessorized with a crossbody messenger bag. The main difference being his slippers that he doodles on with pen when a lesson drags on versus his typically expensive sneakers.

    Likes to crop his hair just a little past the nape of his neck. His uneven bangs are the result of an at-home haircut in an attempt to save money. His work infrequently has him tying what little hair he has, making a little paintbrush at the back of his head.

    build

    Currently in basketball. Will take any opportunity to "stretch" & show off his minimal definition.

    features

    Scarred elbows, knees, & shins from childhood hyperactivity. One stick & poked smiley face on his hip. Prominent canine teeth.

    habits

    Minimally tags places he frequents & objects he passes: his desk, shoes, pant hems, textbooks, etc; his parents have had to pay for damages on at least two occasions. When frustrated or overwhelmed, will tend to pull out his phone & talk with his head tucked toward it. Caught alone, his gaze tends to unfocus at an empty space in front of him.

    credit

    @sirokomamaru on twitter




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */
© weldherwings.
 
basic info
backstory
extra
miyara kozo
the hare
  • PROFILE
    FULL NAME
    miyara kōzō
    NICKNAMES
    rie-sama's brother
    ROLE
    the rabbit
    AGE
    thirty (30)
    BIRTHDATE
    1st january, 1994
    GENDER
    male (he/him)
    No need to worry.
    APPEARANCE
    BASICS
    HEIGHT
    6’ | 182cm
    BUILD
    thin
    BLOOD TYPE
    ab
    HAIR COLOR
    dark brown
    EYE COLOR
    blue-grey
    DESCRIPTION
    Haphazardly built—a tall, ill-defined frame. With exception of earrings, shares his family's fondness toward traditional clothing. Had a rebel's stint in his mid-teens; while his views then have been left in such a past, his taste in accessories have been affected ever since.

    In demeanor, there's always a pleasant expression about him.
    PERSONALITY
    There's no problem.
    There's a comfort brought on by the presence of the rabbit or, more specifically, Kōzō. A quiet character & the type to make homes of any four walls, Kōzō is of the belief that nothing takes precedent over the present.

    There's no assignment or task more important than conversation with & carefully considering the person right in front of him in any given moment. On the day-to-day, he's the type to chat with baristas while a line forms behind him. While, at the extreme end, he's one to avoid heated conversation in favor of taking in the viewpoint being said to him, betraying nothing of his own beliefs—nonconfrontational in that way.

    In humor, the man teeters on the border of witty & unworldly—talk of ideals & "shoulds" suspend his reality while proximity to the experiences of real people grounds it. Conversation with him consists of genuine remarks based on observation or attempts at humor to uncover more facets of the company he's with. His efforts to learn all that is of another result in familiarity that he's near-reckless in preserving through decided loyalty.

    This loyalty extends as well to himself: his devotion to others has left him reluctant to divulge his own honest thoughts. Perhaps unnecessarily so, Kōzō's overly private. Attempts to break through are perceived as betrayals of trust. In such an effort to preserve what's familiar, Kōzō is not the type to pursue grandeur or opportunity.
code by Nano
 







coded by phnx.












alejo
ros












ANTI-MATTER.
king geedorah, mr. fantastik — instrumental
|━━━────────⬤─|










  • info





    NAME

    Alejo Ros


    AKA

    Ross, Alex, Alé


    ROLE

    The Law


    BACKGROUND

    Nomad


    AGE

    33


    BIRTH DATE

    11/21/2046


    GENDER

    Male (he/him)


    ORIGIN

    Yucca, SoCal


    LANGUAGE

    ENG/ES


    HEIGHT

    181 cm


    BUILD

    Athletic


    HAIR

    Faded blond dye


    EYES

    Grey


    CREDIT

    cyberneutral
















    >
    STYLE — Neomilitarism

    >
    AFFECTATIONS — "That is a lot of chains."

    Not exactly the poster boy of the NCPD without his ID on a lanyard around his neck.








info
psyche
record
build
 
*acacia
  • Name
    nina navarrete
    Role
    acacia
    Gender
    female (she/her)
    Age
    24
    Birthday
    april 30
    faceclaim
    ✿
    #green-brown hair
    #amber eyes
    #170cm (5'7")
    Personality
    Through a window pane, the sun's setting warmth after an autumn's afternoon—Nina is the most mellow day of fall. A woman of little opinion & great compassion, her topics of conversation are those of her friends'—namely her best friend's—interests: suggestions for new shows, mentions of upcoming attractions, or invitations to lunch. The type to sunbathe or cloud gaze, Nina can be one to idle, preferring to leave pace in the hands of those around her. Observation has always been Nina's lifeline in navigating her world & the people within it. In such a fast-paced environment, trust her to hone in with eyes wide & held in total attention of whoever holds her interest, affixed. If ever there were a time to lend an ear or hand, the girl seems always to know the hour to do so & how. Without common ground, Nina loses her own. A placative presence, interruption of anticipated pace leaves her scrambling to fill gaps with frantic, conciliatory conversation; otherwise, her gaze averts. Without a presumed read on others, insecurity takes hold of her—this being her reality nearly always, working a customer-facing job & living in the city. It's for this reason: in the back of her mind grows an everlong tab of dues to repay to the people around her. The actions of others have helped her in enough ways to provoke tears whenever she sits to reflect; such ability is a something she'll be perpetually indebted to. The least there is to do is hope to act in such a way for another; it's in this manner with which she leads life.
Code by Nano
 
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