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Fantasy Ito's Ramen Stand | CS

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pot4to

New Member
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ito's ramen stand | 妖怪 ///
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GAME START
CHARACTER CREATION <​


> RULES TO THE GAME

> THIS RP CONTAINS MATURE THEMES AND CONTENT.
BE FAIR, AND PLAY WITHIN THE LEVELING SYSTEM.
ONE CHARACTER PER PERSON.

> KEEP ALL QUESTIONS AND DISCUSSION IN THE OOC.
ALL SITE RULES APPLY. VIOLATORS WILL BE FORCED EXIT.

EXIT GAME
CONTINUE <

> YOUR CHARACTER IS A FRESH ROOKIE WITH LITTLE TO NO KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD OF EXORCISTS. PRIOR TO THEIR DECISION IN WORKING FOR ITO, THEY LIVED AS YOUR AVERAGE EVERYDAY CITIZEN.

> IF IT WEREN'T FOR THOSE EYES OF THEIRS.
AS YOU KNOW, THIS WORLD IS DIVIDED. LAYERED BETWEEN THE PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL REALM. HUMANS LIVE BLIND TO THESE SPIRITS, HOWEVER THERE ARE THE ODD EXCEPTIONS SUCH AS YC.

> A CLOSE TO DEATH EXPERIENCE- A SPIRITUAL ENCOUNTER- THESE ARE BUT A FEW REASONS FOR YC'S SENSITIVITY TO THE SPIRITUAL REALM.

> BEFORE WE BEGIN, I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW MORE ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER. TELL ME THEIR NAME.

ENTER NAME __________


> PERFECT. NOW, TELL ME MORE ABOUT THEM. THIS WILL BE YOUR FIRST JOB. I WILL EXPLAIN THE LEVELING SYSTEM ONCE YOUR CHARACTER HAS BEEN ACCEPTED.




JOB REQUEST: BUILD CS
REWARDS: 15 EXP | ❂ 100​


>> BASICS: AGE (17+) > SEX > ETHNICITY > OCCUPATION
>>> APPEARANCE: REALISTIC FEATURES (EX. DYED HAIR)
>> INFORMATION: PERSONALITY > BIOGRAPHY

> KEEP IN MIND THAT YC IS A REGULAR HUMAN. ASIDE FROM THEIR GIFT OF SIGHT, THEY HAVE NO SPIRITUAL POWER OR ABILITIES. INCLUDE THEIR REASON FOR A LIFE OF PERIL. THEY HAD JUST CHOSE TO WORK AS AN EXORCIST OVER ITO'S OFFER TO BLIND THEIR SIGHT. ALTHOUGH THE EXORCIST JOBS DO PAY QUITE HANDSOMELY, YC SHOULD KEEP A NORMAL LIFE ON THE SURFACE.
>> OPTIONAL: SHORT STORY
(BONUS REWARD: 10 EXP)

> AN EXCERPT OF YC. OPTIONAL, BUT WORTH EXTRA EXP. USE YOUR CREATIVITY, BREATHE YC TO LIFE.

SUBMIT CHARACTER
ASK A QUESTION <
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Ariel

The Mermaid Slayer
A O I | A R A I[新井葵]



Basics
Age : 21
Gender : Female
Orientation : Pansexual
Hair Color : Dyed
Eye Color : Pink
Height : 5'1"
Weight : 102 lbs.
Ethnicity : Native?

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Personality

A girl who is completely rough around the edges, the kind of edges that'll scrape you up, cut your skin and leave you with a nasty booboo. Although, deep, deep inside, there's a soft nougaty center... surrounded by diamond and steel. Her walls are nigh impossible to break down and that is just how she likes it. She prefers to keep her vulnerabilities close to the center and out of the view of others. People can't hurt you if they don't know how, right? Not true. But she's just as good at hiding her vulnerabilities as she as at hiding her feelings. All that touchy, feely, lovey nonsense? She ain't for it. But that doesn't mean she hasn't ever wanted it. Her attitude and disposition make it hard for her to make friends as well as admit to any of her wrongdoings. Her pride is great, and takes priority over a lot of things. But that is, if you can find something that damages her pride. For the most part, she doesn't really care what others may or may not think about her. It makes it easier for her to do what she wants without worry or regard to anything else. But she hates being wrong or getting caught doing something she shouldn't. She can be pretty stubborn too, meaning she'll argue to all hell about something even if she knows she's wrong, but when is she ever wrong, right?

It isn't great being at the receiving end of Aoi's wrath. She's ruthless and unmerciful and can be quite the bully. Better at dealing with problems with her fists and harsh words, Aoi is hardly any good at handling tough situations. She might pick on someone she likes or doesn't like. Aoi is Aoi after all. She's had a lot of experience with cruddy people leaving her to assume everyone is at least a little crummy, even herself, although she knows she isn't the best person. But she isn't about to change anything either. She's brutally honest, finding that even sweet lies are just lies and she hates liars with a passion. Lying means you'll probably lose a lot of respect from the young woman if you even had any at all. If you want to get along with Aoi, you don't necessarily have to speak her language, you just have to be able to roll with the punches and understand how she is. She doesn't ever say sorry. At least not more than once in a blue moon. To receive an apology from Aoi probably means hell has frozen over, so you'd have more things to worry about than a change of heart from her. She fiercely protects what she cares about at any cost. Even if she doesn't exactly express her care, her actions are all anyone ever needs to see a little better into who she is. If you happen to fall under that list of "things she cares about", god help you. You've just acquired your own unstoppable and crude bodyguard.



Occupation
"Private Investigator" for Hire. The kind of girl could as weaseling her way into places or sneaking around. The one who snaps pictures of the cheating husband and returns it to the ornery housewife, the one who searches for runaway college girls sick of their parents consistent presence and pressure, or the one who goes snooping where they shouldn't to dig up dirt on some companies or local politicians. Pays a good buck, but people don't exactly look at her in a good light for doing it. Not that it bothers her any. She likes doing what she's good at. And that is getting into trouble.



History

Aoi didn't exactly have the best life growing up. But despite everything she went through, she never complained. Not really.

The biggest concoction for the society hating, rough around the edges cocktail that she is now starts with an inadequate family and a poor economic standing. They lived in a trailer in the ghetto on the rough side of town. The parts people don't really talk about unless they want to buy drugs or guns or a cheap, perfume smelling lover for the night. And the people there, they thought of even less. They were all lumped together as the troubled, the people less than those on the brighter side of town, where the treated grass was greener and families drove SUVs and lived in two story houses in a cookie cutter neighborhood. For all its worth, Aoi probably wouldn't have traded with them, even if it meant that she wouldn't have known a single hardship her whole life. But that didn't mean she was happy.

They never had much money. But that wasn't what bothered her. Sure, they lived in an area that wasn't the best. Look at someone the wrong way and you'd walk away with a black eye... if you were lucky. Aoi learned that she couldn't be soft real fast. Grade school was a torrent of getting pummelled after school and teased at recess. She started out weak, crying when no one was looking and trying to hide the pain and scars. Her mother hardly paid any attention. As Aoi grew, she saw less and less of the woman. She'd started out an escort and as far as Aoi knew she went back to that life after she left. Aoi hardly knew the woman and thanked the stars it was that way. If she saw her now, she'd probably consider beating sense into the woman but wouldn't consider it worth her time. Her father, who was a lot like Aoi, always tried to keep everything held together, but barely. He didn't date and she'd never seen him work but knew he had an income somehow. She'd never bothered asking or finding out. She hadn't needed to know. But the man was... demented. When her mother left, he clung to Aoi in a very unhealthy way. When in middle school he followed her like a shadow, to the point of stalking and breathed down her neck. Told her it was because he cared about her but when she did something he didn't like, he'd beat her, tell her it was her fault and held fast to her afterward as she cried.

She didn't really find her tough shell until she got into high school. She turned around in quite an extreme way. She was the bully at school, the one most kids respected and did their best to stay on her good side. She told people what to do and found that after all the years of being stepped on, she liked it. A lot. At home, her father still continued his patterns of warped love and for a while it seemed to work as almost a conditioning. For a while she thought he actually loved her. Near the end of high school, she finally snapped. One might think something drastic happened to cause the change. A final straw on the camel's back. That maybe something happened that caused her to rethink her life. But it wasn't anything like that. Just one day... as she came home and went to her room, as the man walked in clearly upset that she wasn't home earlier, clearly about to treat her to some more tough love.... She reached a shaky hand toward her baseball bat and proceeded to beat the everloving hell out of him. As he lay, wheezing and bleeding on her bedroom floor, she packed a duffel bag and just left, swinging the bloodied bat around like a trophy. And she never came back after that. She stayed with a friend, got a job with some rather unsavory people, the same people that turned her onto the investigator role she had today, and after high school, she continued her path without ever, ever looking back.

~

Cerebral Brain Hemorrhaging. Swelling of the brain. Bleeding of the brain.

Of course that kind of thing could happen if someone was beat badly enough. Especially with Aoi's pro league metal baseball bat. One of those things she thought, thinking back on it, was that it hadn't taken much effort to kill that man. He was weak and flimsy. He bled just like she did when he hit her and he died like a dog, alone on the bedroom floor of the very child he oppressed.

Of course she'd heard the news. News spread fast about death in their dingy ghetto...
Did you hear? Old Roger passed away! They say he was found beat to a pulp in his home.

I wonder if he pissed off the wrong person.
And his daughter?
Was gone by the time the feds arrived.

Do you think...?

Of course they thought. It wasn't a secret how the man treated his daughter. Especially when make-up hadn't been enough to cover the scars and bruises. Of course they considered the fact that it could have been Aoi. Nobody said anything. Perhaps because they didn't care. Maybe because they were protecting her from punishment. She never knew, didn't care. She did her best to continue forward like the past was the ground under her feet. But sometimes, when she sat alone, thought about it... It unsettled her. She'd recall how quickly he'd crumpled. How bloody it had been. How relieved she was when she found out he'd died. And something else. Usually by this point, she'd clamp her mouth shut, pop a cigarette in her mouth and try to divert her thoughts. But she couldn't ignore them forever.

One night, alone in her apartment, she sat curled up on the edge of the sofa, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She hadn't even taken a drag yet, just kept tapping the ash away when it threatened to fall. Did she... remorse? She'd killed somebody. In cold blood and left them to die... And she... liked it. A lot of that had to do with the victim being her father, she knew that. But aside from the tiny bits of remorse mixed in with twisted gratification. She felt nothing. She hadn't hesitated, hadn't looked back. Her hands were as still as her heart had been. And all of this terrified her. So she'd drank herself silly, smoked a pack and a half and thought that she should take some sleeping medications to help her pass out for the night, putting it behind her in the morning. But the cocktail of emotional turmoil, alcohol, and prescription medication was not so great an idea, an idea regretted only after it was too late. She sobbed, cried for what had been the first time in years. Screamed even. She was a mess. And it was also around that time she started really acknowledging how the world changed around her. Ever since she'd left him, she'd noticed things out of the corner of her eye, shadows and figures, but she'd never pursued them and her brain had shut them out as her imagination. As the guilt and turmoil grew the shapes became more consistent, following her around and she had chalked it up to the emotional mess she was, all locked away and these were consequences. Until that night. Until she saw what could only be described as a monster standing in her living room. It's skin was pocked, its feet, which looked broken hung simply, not touching the floor. It's body was bloated and purple. And it's face mirrored her father's mixed with how she pictured a corpse would look.

She almost burned her apartment down that night. Screamed bloody murder, had reached for her bat but found her hand would not grasp it. So when it seemed it wasn't going to do anything or follow her, she clamped her mouth shut, grabbed her jacket and left for the evening. When she returned in the morning it was gone. Later she'd realize it was a creature that manifested itself in the form of someone's fears and worries. The adjustment was quick. Aoi went from seeing shapes and shadows to seeing full blown spirits... everywhere. The adjustment was like the snap of the fingers. At first she panicked. Now, she tolerated them.
Hardly.



A Snippet of Aoi

The smoke curled up in rings, reaching toward the ceiling of the old bar with ash colored tendrils before falling back down gracefully and yet... sadly. Aoi couldn't help think about this, and perhaps how she might have considered herself a deep person if she could only take things around her more seriously. She wore her usual gothic attire, a skirt, plaid, with a spiked belt hanging lazily around her waist. Her shirt depicted the logo of some local band with an edgy caption that said something like "Keep them up at night!" Her hair, a yellow as opposed to the natural blonde sticking out in wisps on the top, lay over her shoulders that were swathed in her favorite leather jacket. Her foot kicked in time to whatever classic rock blared through the old static, twitching more with impatience than appreciation for the rhythm and a mostly expended cigarette stuck out from between her lips as she pushed it to the side of her mouth. She was positioned so she was facing away from the bar and the drink she'd ordered an hour ago, untouched and leaving water marks on the counter. Her eyes were focused on a couple as they sat across the bar, arms and hands all over each other. They leaned in for another sloppy, intoxicated kiss and Aoi raced the tiny camera, no bigger than a credit card, and snapped a picture of them for probably the fiftieth time that night. Yep, despite hanging out at one of the local bars, she was actually working, doing the sleazy stuff people looked down on her for and this isn't the first time she'd been here either. A familiar face ambled up behind her just out of the corner of her eye, a man named Mario with salt and pepper hair who tended the bar.

"You know, maybe you should find someone of yer own. Might put a new perspective on what yer doing there, hopscotch."

Aoi curled her lip in distaste, finally turning around to wrap her painted fingers around the glass of the lukewarm drink and down it in a few gulps.

"Thanks. You know, I'm thinking you might have a shot in the counseling industry. Those few words have made me see the error of my ways. I'll change. Tomorrow." The sarcasm was present in her voice. There was hardly ever a time she wasn't sarcastic.

Mario waved his hand dismissively, quite used to the young woman's jabber.

"If I know you, you'll never change. Aoi will be the same way she was when she was born just as she will be when she's an old coot, rocking in her chair and waving her cane around, threatening to beat someone with it."

It's something that might have made her laugh. But thinking about the weight of those words, it gave her a headache and she just didn't want to deal with it. She slapped a crisp fifty dollar bill on the counter, more than enough and then some to cover her tab, and gave Mario a small wave.

"I'd love to stay and chat old man, but I've got a marriage to ruin."

"See ya tomorrow, kid."



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Rantos

The man with 1001 waifus
Theme||Okay Fine, Whatever by Hoàng Anh Đinh Ngọc

"...."
- The one with the fox's smile, the perfect lie: Morgan
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[Name]
Morgan J Irastone

[Age]
23

[Sex]
Male
Female
Something Indistinguishable <

[Ethnicity]
Caucasian
Native San Fransokyo'n

[Occupation]
A Barista by day and a Bartender by night. Works for the Occupational Hazard coffeeshop and bar.

[Physical Ticks]
Large scars litter Morgan's body. Flesh wounds that glisten red. They are mostly smooth to the touch. The wounds are sensitive, they burn upon the slightest pressure. They don't take long to get used to, but the first time viewing such wounds is often frightening.




[Personality]
The holder of the fox's smile. A smile that says it all, one that is innocent at first glance but hides a world of ugliness. A smile that is not born of happiness or content, but born of the desire to hide the holders ill intent. All malice is hidden behind such a smile, all warped intent is masked. A facade that Morgan wears all too well. One can be fooled by it, easily. His kind words and soft voice give off such a warm presence. His actions can be so considerate and charismatic. His blunt and candid personality can seem like a breath of fresh air and his childlike optimism is infectious. Yet in his eyes, the truth is all too apparent. Those eyes hold frustration.

A frustration born of disgust in the highest. Disgust in others. Disgust in himself. The world, as viewed through those fox-like eyes, is something to detest. The people on the streets, those who walk and live, disgusting. But why? Morgan struggles with the answer to such a question. Maybe Morgan projects his own insecurities, his own self-hate on others. Maybe seeing the world as a wretched place is the only way he can find his place in it. Maybe his cynical outlook is the only way he can make sense of it all. And yet all his anger, all his discomfort, all his pity and discontent is so slyly hidden behind the fox's smile.

[Bio]
A boy cursed from the onset. There are names for people like Morgan: a seer, a medium, a gifted youth. The exact circumstance is unknown but from a young age, Morgan was sensitive to the spiritual. He could see what rested between reality and fiction, he saw them as clear as day. People walked past that seemed real, but would subvert expectations by walking through walls. He saw it all and maybe in a more accepting lifetime, Morgan would have been called a physic. In this lifetime, however, he was branded delusional. The people he saw, the noises he heard, were all fake. He grew up being told so, yet never being able to tell the difference. Did he really bump into that man? Did that conversation with a stranger just Morgan talking to himself? Were those girls gossiping nothing more than a whisper in the wind? Was his mother standing across the street nothing more than a trick of the light?

In time Morgan stopped taking the risk. He closed himself off, he rejected the world around him, both the real and the fake. He forced himself into a solitude surrounded by others. He assumed they were all fake, unable to discern. He lived life in a self-created bubble, only ever coming out when necessary. Such behavior quickly became self-destructive. To live in a fake world was truly frightening, even if his smile did not show his fear. He walked by crying children, too unsure to help. He heard crying for help down alleyways, yet ignored them all the same. In time Morgan became too afraid to do anything but live passively. His mind slowly began to degrade, without any way to discern what was real and what was in his head.

Who would have thought that Morgan would finally find solace in pain. The one thing he knew to be true. Morgan indulged himself, seeking the fulfilling sensation whenever he could. Morgan fought, he lashed out against anyone who could throw a punch. He shouldn't have enjoyed it, he knew he shouldn't have. Yet he couldn't stop himself from relishing in the pleasure. The pain took his mind off of worrying what was real and fake. The pain was something he could hold onto, something he knew would always be real. But maybe it was because he was cursed that his solace did not last for long.

The events are a blur. All Morgan remembers is that one unlucky night he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and picked a fight with the wrong person. The events flashed before his eyes like a dream, a phantasm of unreal events and unrelenting pain. He remembers a being, unlike anything that could have been real, a true demon. He remembers staring death in this beings eyes. He remembers the pain he felt that night and the scars he sustained. But most vividly he remembers looking up to the sky, unable to move, the rain pouring down and burning his wounds. He remembers his uncertainty, and how the uncertainty made him cry. Was the pain he felt in that moment real? Or was it little more than a delusion, just like everything else in his rotten world.

[Story]
Will Arrive Shortly

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Wake

An Aesthetic Sham
Name: Shou Ejiri
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Occupation: High school senior
Appearance: Rather average-looking with dull, slightly long, straight black hair. Wears his school's uniform, gakuran style, if he ditches after attending for a while. On the days he decided not to show up at all, he'll typically wear nothing more flashy than a t-shirt and jeans. (Sorta looks like pic)
Personality: Apathetic to the extreme with a stony face that barely shifts from expressionless. Living in a perpetual limbo of boredom, he'll do basically anything anyone asks if him if it isn't too much work to be annoying. Doesn't talk more than needs to be said, which can make him come off as introverted or shy, but in reality, being alone or with others doesn't make a difference to him. He lives by a fairly hedonistic philosophy of doing anything he can to avoid boredom.
Bio: Grew up with a single mother who, although loving, is forced to spend increasingly long ours working to sustain the household, leaving their relationship estranged and Shou with excessive freedom. Most of the memories from his childhood are hazy, too boring too remember. Upon entering high school, a feeling of disenfranchisement, ennui, and apathy colored his world. In lieu of this, he began hanging out with the delinquent crowd and very quickly became popular among them and gained something of a leadership position, well liked for his carefree attitude and talent for fighting. If asked, he'd beat people up without so much flinching, finding it a good way to relieve boredom. Prioritizing the more interesting gang over school work, his failing grades coupled with unruly action lead even his teachers to give up on him. Although his group helped stave off the boredom he so hated, he never felt truly happy, and unlike the other boys, he viewed the gang as more of an activity than lifestyle. Upon entering senior year, he'd grown bored of the gang as well and began to distance himself from them too. In his endless quest to find something to hold his attention, he began ditching school more and more. In this context,he happened across Ito's shop.
Powers: Although never brushing with death, some spirits resonate with Shou's profound emptiness, allowing him to see them. Yet untrained, he can primarily see the shades of those who died unfulfilled.
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Shmivian

Become.
[div=transparent; width:650px; margin:auto; padding:0px;][div=background-color:#c0d6e4; height:10px; width:616px; margin:auto; padding:10px; position:relative; top:20px;][div=color:#fff; font-size:40px; position:relative; bottom:35px; position:relative; text-shadow:4px -4px 0px #c0d6e4;]• 幽霊を見たの委員長ちゃん • • •[/div][/div]
[div=background-color: #c0d6e4 ;height: 130px; padding:0px;][div=border: 5px solid white; height:112px; width:75px; margin:left;pointer-events:none;]
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[div=position:relative; left:120px; font-size:12px; position:relative; top:5px; color:#fff;] WIPPPPP • Student • 18 • Female • Bisexual• 5' 8" • 140 lbs[/div][/div][/div][/div][/div]





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[div=transparent; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; padding:5px;][div=font-size:14px; text-shadow:-6px 6px 0px #b2c3d4; padding:5px;]完璧な委員長ちゃん[/div]
[div=overflow:auto; height:150px; width:400px; font-size:10px; right:60px; padding:0px;]Outwardly, Hana fits her role of class president very well. Her leadership may not be all that great, but she's approachable, she cares about her classmates, and she does notably well in most everything she does... and she's popular. She seems to know everything, and- well, how could she not? She's probably the smartest goddamn girl in the school. And she's so humble about it, too....

Behind that nasty class president facade is a girl who, above all else, absolutely hates herself. Nothing she does is ever good enough for her, and nothing she does ever will be. She's past trying desperately to improve, crying constantly over every mistake, trying over and over again but never succeeding. Now she just does everything because it's customary... her role, in a sense. She'd be dead if it weren't for that stupid spirit.

She’s quite tired, really.
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[div=transparent; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; padding:5px;][div=font-size:14px; text-shadow:-6px 6px 0px #b2c3d4; padding:5px;]死にたかったが、幽霊を見た[/div]


[div=overflow:auto; height:150px; width:400px; font-size:10px; right:60px; padding:0px;]Hanako, for the most part, lived a fairly normal life. She grew up in Fransokyo as an only child of a strict mother and a weak father. Over time Hana came to adopt her mother’s expectations. Nothing but the best would ever be acceptable. Hanako, like any other normal kid, went to school. She found herself surrounded by students, some who became her friends and some who became her admirers. When she won the position of Class President, nobody was surprised. Hanako seemed to fit that role extremely well.

High school hit Hanako like a freight train. She found herself surrounded by all kinds of intelligent people. Her mom became increasingly overbearing. Competition was high. Hana found herself frequently stressed and sleep-deprived, unable to keep up with her mother's (her own, really) standards. Every little mistake ruined the poor girl.

Then, in her third year, Hanako committed suicide. Or tried to, anyways. She woke up the next morning to see a translucent figure of a small girl standing beside her. A powerful kind of zashiki warashi, one might call it. A kind so powerful that it could even leave the zashiki to somehow keep Hanako alive. A kind that could just follow Hanako out of the house, playing tricks and causing mayhem, yet also causing "coincidentally" good things to occur.

So Hana spent the remainder of her life having to deal with a ghost girl by her side.
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[div=font-size:14px; text-shadow:-6px 6px 0px #b2c3d4; padding:10px;]私の物語[/div][div=font-size:10px; overflow:auto; height:140px; padding:0px;]Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, et sed vel pharetra magna, fermentum mi lobortis purus orci, metus augue aenean elit feugiat amet non, feugiat odio. Ante velit mattis ipsum facilisis eu, enim nunc mauris malesuada, ligula lorem, luctus vestibulum ut. Bibendum diam nullam accumsan curabitur, quam felis magna aliquam, dui pulvinar imperdiet ante ornare, est fermentum. Lacinia ut maiores ligula ultrices elit, nisl vestibulum in quam, illo interdum tincidunt, in nulla proident, et malesuada risus tellus. Dolor id blandit faucibus eu vestibulum elit.

Conubia tincidunt suspendisse, laboriosa ut, et libero pariatur magna, justo tortor odio eu fusce sed. Blandit sed nulla id. Per venenatis ultrices orci consequat per lacus, duis aliquet quisque mi quis in porttitor, lacus massa eget sodales pellentesque integer interdum. Mollis penatibus viverra suspendisse suscipit velit viverra, vel et eros ut sollicitudin mattis, ac gravida eu luctus, semper nonummy neque eget mi, sed consequat blandit placerat. Venenatis id, hendrerit ultrices, eget et et aptent adipiscing vel, lacus vestibulum lacinia nibh in est sed, non mauris nulla ipsum. Accumsan leo dolor.

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code by barista​
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and here's to yall mobile users
山口花子 Hanako Yamaguchi
幽霊を見たの委員長ちゃん


Student • 18 • Female • Bi • 5’ 8” • 140 lbs

完璧な委員長ちゃん

Outwardly, Hana fits her role of class president very well. Her leadership may not be all that great, but she's approachable, she cares about her classmates, and she does notably well in most everything she does... and she's popular. She seems to know everything, and- well, how could she not? She's probably the smartest goddamn girl in the school. And she's so humble about it, too....

Behind that nasty class president facade is a girl who, above all else, absolutely hates herself. Nothing she does is ever good enough for her, and nothing she does ever will be. She's past trying desperately to improve, crying constantly over every mistake, trying over and over again but never succeeding. Now she just does everything because it's customary... her role, in a sense. She'd be dead if it weren't for that stupid spirit.

She’s quite tired, really.



死にたかったが、幽霊を見た
Hanako, for the most part, lived a fairly normal life. She grew up in Fransokyo as an only child of a strict mother and a weak father. Over time Hana came to adopt her mother’s expectations. Nothing but the best would ever be acceptable. Hanako, like any other normal kid, went to school. She found herself surrounded by students, some who became her friends and some who became her admirers. When she won the position of Class President, nobody was surprised. Hanako seemed to fit that role extremely well.

High school hit Hanako like a freight train. She found herself surrounded by all kinds of intelligent people. Her mom became increasingly overbearing. Competition was high. Hana found herself frequently stressed and sleep-deprived, unable to keep up with her mother's (her own, really) standards. Every little mistake ruined the poor girl.

Then, in her third year, Hanako committed suicide. Or tried to, anyways. She woke up the next morning to see a translucent figure of a small girl standing beside her. A powerful kind of zashiki warashi, one might call it. A kind so powerful that it could even leave the zashiki to somehow keep Hanako alive. A kind that could just follow Hanako out of the house, playing tricks and causing mayhem, yet also causing "coincidentally" good things to occur.

So Hana spent the remainder of her life having to deal with a ghost girl by her side.


私の物語
INSERT




 
Last edited:

WolfSol

I just rolled a crit 1 for life...
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YORICK * HALESO


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19* Male * Asexual * 5'7" * 148lbs * Caucasian
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'Hollow and black, just like the ash running through my blood,

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Nineteen year old Yorick Haleso has a knack for monotony and is the epitome of apathy. It's not that he doesn't care about your dead dog or the body in your basement freezer, it's that he can't care, it's that he can't feel. Some say it's Asperger's, some call it depression, but his mother knew better. Hell, his mother was the cause of it. The moment he'd even mentioned seeing dead people, she'd panicked. She'd deemed him spawn, a monster, a son of the damned, and she'd tried to kill him because of it. Thankfully she could never do it, never end it right. That or she'd come to her senses last minute. Regardless, he'd surmised that it was her doing. She was the one who brought the gray, brought the silence, and brought the feeling of nonexistence. It was likely a defensive mechanism, or so he'd been told, that inability to feel or care. However, on the day that his mother decided suicide was better than facing her "abomination," he did crack a smile and maybe even shed a single tear. Yet her passing did not give him life. Her death was not enough to free him because the house, the town, everything held snippets, glimpses, breathes of her.

He'd tried countless times to feel again, but romance gave him nothing but wasted time. Hobbies gave him nothing but wasted money and limited space. Friendship gave him nothing but clueless facades and sensitive hearts. However, there was violence. It sparked a change in emotion, a crack in the foundation. Yet video games didn't cut it, murdering was out of the question-he'd never succumb to his monstrous mother, and the gym didn't help. Oh, but Ito's Ramen Stand... it was rather out of the blue when he'd heard it, having sat in the local coffee shop with a mug of bitter, gnat-ridden coffee overhearing a gaggle of teens gossiping like old women. He'd taken it with a grain of salt, but when he'd left his gnat-ridden coffee to curdle on the small, wooden tabletop, and headed out into the streets, he saw her.

She stood there in the middle of the street, a grin plastered on her face, and a laugh oozing from her lips.

He saw her, and then Ito's Ramen Stand didn't sound so far-fetched. Sure, it may be a waste of time, but it promised a bit of violence and a dash of change. Anything to get rid of the ability to see and the inability to feel.

Alias
Yori/Yorick

Occupation
Librarian at the city library


Appearance
Yorick is a spitting image of his deadbeat father even after he'd dyed his hair from a muddy brown to a "sapphire black." Like the father, he too bears high cheekbones, a sharpened chin, and a softly rounded nose. Even his fingers, long and sinewy, are a regrettable gift from the old man. The only trait he hadn't acquired was the eyes. No, he'd gotten that from his mother, blessed with irises that held a window of greenery and rich bark.


Personality
He prefers silence over the sound of music, laughter, and purring kittens. He prefers bitter, sour foods over sweet, mouthwatering goodies. He prefers observing, studying, judging, rather than being involved. He prefers the cold, bland days that rain and blot out the sun. With all of that, it's not surprising that Yorick is a realist. His push at being realistic, along with his monotonous voice and robotic gestures, abruptly comes across as either rude or cold. He hasn't had a chance to see how loyal, how trustworthy, or how dependable he might be. Nevertheless, he is quite independent, quite driven on his "good" days, and is a born perfectionist.


Yorick is apathetic, it's a flaw he is quite aware of, and is quite frankly tired of. Yet his mother has imprinted herself onto him, and that makes moving on difficult. That makes changing a hassle.

Kin
He hails from a family of Jap-Americans, but is unable to speak Japanese. His father is a "low-life, dead beat, or at least that's what his mother claims. Yorick personally wouldn't know as the old man left before he'd been conceived. The rest of his family has deemed him bad luck, and they quickly cut all ties with him after his mother's passing.

Preferences
He loves to paint. Expressions can be invoked, shared, told simply in a picture. It's mostly the only way for him to get his thoughts across in hopes to feel something, anything.

Snippet
The scent of roses had been pungent, borderline suffocating, but nothing had been as stifling as the constant words of love, comfort, and support. They had come in waves, clad in blacks and grays, and at first seemed as endless as the skies. Yorick had gotten lost in the waves, flailed around as he shook hands like they were life rafts, and uttered thank yous in the guise of anchors.

He'd lost count of the mantra, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” He'd lost count of the stories they’d tell, the memories they’d share, and the tears they’d offered. Tears… it made his skin itch, angered a buried emotion somewhere deep within him. Tears for that harpy? He would have laughed aloud at that, would have clawed his eyes out from the laughter, but he couldn't. The laugh had been a mere itch in his throat, a tickle on his neck. Like with many other things in his life, it hadn't come. Even when he'd stared down onto the closed casket-her body too damaged for an open service-and dug his nails into his forearms, nothing.

Even now, as he stands in front of her grave, neither tears nor laughter come. Not even hatred which is something that he wants to feel, wants to embrace with all of his being. Her grave, a prestigious slab of white stone cut from marble, stands tall and proud. Its gold-lettered engravings sharp and ice cold to the touch.


Here lies Janet Grace Haleso, a beautiful, kindred spirit.

It is merely painful. She's gone and yet he remains, stone cold and twisted just as she'd made him. And those words... bull shit. Just like the mourners, the cemetery is a sea of blacks and grays. Despair is thick, and it weighs down upon the cemetery in a drizzle. The drizzle, the rain, is cold, but he cannot feel it either. Those nerves, the ability to realistically feel hot and cold, are irrelevant and dull just like she'd made them to be. Yet he knows it is cold, bone chillingly cold. He can feel it in his bones.

"The poor boy, what shall we do with him? He's cursed without a doubt."
"Oh yes, without a doubt! Heavens, I remember Janet telling me he stated he'd seen dead people."
"What? Are you for certain?"
"Oh, we can't have someone like that around our newborn!"

He's not listening. He can't listen. It's not that it's painful to listen, it's not that the rain is too loud, but it's more like the shadow behind him. It's the pressure at his back, a sick presence that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Oh, Yori..." her voices wafts around him, haunting him.

More like, here lies Janet Grace Haleso, an abusive, good for nothing wench.

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'Hollow and black, just like the ash running through my blood,


Nineteen year old Yorick Haleso has a knack for monotony and is the epitome of apathy. It's not that he doesn't care about your dead dog or the body in your basement freezer, it's that he can't care, it's that he can't feel. Some say it's Asperger's, some call it depression, but his mother knew better. Hell, his mother was the cause of it. The moment he'd even mentioned seeing dead people, she'd panicked. She'd deemed him spawn, a monster, a son of the damned, and she'd tried to kill him because of it. Thankfully she could never do it, never end it right. That or she'd come to her senses last minute. Regardless, he'd surmised that it was her doing. She was the one who brought the gray, brought the silence, and brought the feeling of nonexistence. It was likely a defensive mechanism, or so he'd been told, that inability to feel or care. However, on the day that his mother decided suicide was better than facing her "abomination," he did crack a smile and maybe even shed a single tear. Yet her passing did not give him life. Her death was not enough to free him because the house, the town, everything held snippets, glimpses, breathes of her.

He'd tried countless times to feel again, but romance gave him nothing but wasted time. Hobbies gave him nothing but wasted money and limited space. Friendship gave him nothing but clueless facades and sensitive hearts. However, there was violence. It sparked a change in emotion, a crack in the foundation. Yet video games didn't cut it, murdering was out of the question-he'd never succumb to his monstrous mother, and the gym didn't help. Oh, but Ito's Ramen Stand... it was rather out of the blue when he'd heard it, having sat in the local coffee shop with a mug of bitter, gnat-ridden coffee overhearing a gaggle of teens gossiping like old women. He'd taken it with a grain of salt, but when he'd left his gnat-ridden coffee to curdle on the small, wooden tabletop, and headed out into the streets, he saw her.

She stood there in the middle of the street, a grin plastered on her face, and a laugh oozing from her lips.

He saw her, and then Ito's Ramen Stand didn't sound so far-fetched. Sure, it may be a waste of time, but it promised a bit of violence and a dash of change. Anything to get rid of the ability to see and the inability to feel.

Alias
Yori/Yorick

Occupation
Librarian at the city library


Appearance
Yorick is a spitting image of his deadbeat father even after he'd dyed his hair from a muddy brown to a "sapphire black." Like the father, he too bears high cheekbones, a sharpened chin, and a softly rounded nose. Even his fingers, long and sinewy, are a regrettable gift from the old man. The only trait he hadn't acquired was the eyes. No, he'd gotten that from his mother, blessed with irises that held a window of greenery and rich bark.


Personality
He prefers silence over the sound of music, laughter, and purring kittens. He prefers bitter, sour foods over sweet, mouthwatering goodies. He prefers observing, studying, judging, rather than being involved. He prefers the cold, bland days that rain and blot out the sun. With all of that, it's not surprising that Yorick is a realist. His push at being realistic, along with his monotonous voice and robotic gestures, abruptly comes across as either rude or cold. He hasn't had a chance to see how loyal, how trustworthy, or how dependable he might be. Nevertheless, he is quite independent, quite driven on his "good" days, and is a born perfectionist.


Yorick is apathetic, it's a flaw he is quite aware of, and is quite frankly tired of. Yet his mother has imprinted herself onto him, and that makes moving on difficult. That makes changing a hassle.

Kin
He hails from a family of Jap-Americans, but is unable to speak Japanese. His father is a "low-life, dead beat, or at least that's what his mother claims. Yorick personally wouldn't know as the old man left before he'd been conceived. The rest of his family has deemed him bad luck, and they quickly cut all ties with him after his mother's passing.

Preferences
He loves to paint. Expressions can be invoked, shared, told simply in a picture. It's mostly the only way for him to get his thoughts across in hopes to feel something, anything.

Snippet
The scent of roses had been pungent, borderline suffocating, but nothing had been as stifling as the constant words of love, comfort, and support. They had come in waves, clad in blacks and grays, and at first seemed as endless as the skies. Yorick had gotten lost in the waves, flailed around as he shook hands like they were life rafts, and uttered thank yous in the guise of anchors.

He'd lost count of the mantra, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” He'd lost count of the stories they’d tell, the memories they’d share, and the tears they’d offered. Tears… it made his skin itch, angered a buried emotion somewhere deep within him. Tears for that harpy? He would have laughed aloud at that, would have clawed his eyes out from the laughter, but he couldn't. The laugh had been a mere itch in his throat, a tickle on his neck. Like with many other things in his life, it hadn't come. Even when he'd stared down onto the closed casket-her body too damaged for an open service-and dug his nails into his forearms, nothing.

Even now, as he stands in front of her grave, neither tears nor laughter come. Not even hatred which is something that he wants to feel, wants to embrace with all of his being. Her grave, a prestigious slab of white stone cut from marble, stands tall and proud. Its gold-lettered engravings sharp and ice cold to the touch.


Here lies Janet Grace Haleso, a beautiful, kindred spirit.

It is merely painful. She's gone and yet he remains, stone cold and twisted just as she'd made him. And those words... bull shit. Just like the mourners, the cemetery is a sea of blacks and grays. Despair is thick, and it weighs down upon the cemetery in a drizzle. The drizzle, the rain, is cold, but he cannot feel it either. Those nerves, the ability to realistically feel hot and cold, are irrelevant and dull just like she'd made them to be. Yet he knows it is cold, bone chillingly cold. He can feel it in his bones.

"The poor boy, what shall we do with him? He's cursed without a doubt."
"Oh yes, without a doubt! Heavens, I remember Janet telling me he stated he'd seen dead people."
"What? Are you for certain?"
"Oh, we can't have someone like that around our newborn!"

He's not listening. He can't listen. It's not that it's painful to listen, it's not that the rain is too loud, but it's more like the shadow behind him. It's the pressure at his back, a sick presence that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Oh, Yori..." her voices wafts around him, haunting him.

More like, here lies Janet Grace Haleso, an abusive, good for nothing wench.
 
Last edited:

RI.a

"愛を知りたいのです."
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[div class=header][br][/br][br][/br]えりな.[/div]
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[div class=box][div class=title]REQUISITE[/div] [br][/br][br][/br]
[div class=title]name[/div] Erina Shigazaki
[br][/br][div class=title]age[/div] 23 years old
[br][/br][div class=title]gender[/div] Female
[br][/br][div class=title]ethnicity[/div] Japanese American
[br][/br][div class=title]sexuality[/div] Heterosexual
[br][/br][div class=title]occupation[/div] Judo instructor, Ex-Pilot [/div]
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[div class=box][div class=title]APPEARANCE[/div] [br][/br][br][/br]
[div class=title]height[/div] 5'9"/175cm
[br][/br][div class=title]weight[/div] 155lb/70kg
[br][/br][div class=title]body type[/div] Athletic, lean muscular
[br][/br][div class=title]hair colour[/div] Dyed platinum blonde
[br][/br][div class=title]eye colour[/div] Green
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[div class="container page2"][div class=box][div class=title]PERSONALITY[/div][br][/br][br][/br]
Erina would always put her best foot forward to everything she does. She's very goal-oriented, so much so that she dislikes steering away from her decisions once its made, and stubborn enough to prove that she'll get her job done or achieve her dream(s). Being a confident, disciplined and and optimistic individual, Erina doesn't like giving up. She's a dependable team player and is a quick thinker. Dead set on her goals, she's never had the time to develop true relationships with her peers. She barely knows how to interact socially and the only ones she has a close relationship with are her parents and the second lieutenant who was in charge of her squad. Of course, with success came some self doubt and hate planted from gossip and false rumours jealous people made. She could barely care about what others say about her. But she knew deep down that their words hurt her more than she liked to admit.
[br][/br][br][/br]
Erina tends to face challenges and aggressors professionally. Chin up, shoulders back, and maybe glower at them a little to intimidate them. She usually turns the other cheek when asked to prove her worth, she didn't see a point in wasting her strength on people who couldn't admit that they needed more training. But if attacked first, her assaulter would always end up on the ground. Despite her reputation and quiet disposition, she experiences emotions just like any other and yearns for friends whom she could trust and lean on for emotional support.
[br][/br][br][/br][div class=title]likes[/div] Flying | Sports | Martial Arts | Training
[br][/br][div class=title]dislikes[/div] Not doing anything | Feeling helpless
[br][/br][div class=title]habits/quirks[/div] Constantly reties her hair[/div]
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Inspired by air shows since young, Erina yearned to fly in the skies as well. Her parents had passed it off as a child's dream, "They want to be everything at that age. It'll pass." They said. Her motivation didn't deplete over the years and after high school she took her first steps to be a pilot. She topped the physical and aptitude tests in her cohort, quickly getting the attention of the best flyers the country knows. She had reached her goal to fly in the annual parade, making her one of the youngest in the country to do so. She was buzzing, her life was great, she was lucky that she achieved her dream. How many in the world can say that?
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So, now what? Her parents had wanted her to go to college, get a degree, get a safe job on the ground. But Erina loved the sky and the thrill of flying too much. She soon found her next goal and it ties in with her passion for flying well. She decided to serve her country and joined the air force. Her outstanding performance lead her to being recruited into a special squadron, under the lead of a second lieutenant, Darryon. Under his tutelage, she could proudly call him her boss and her friend. She liked his carefree and easygoing attitude, but she also witnessed his wrath before. She was halfway through her fundamental course for fighter jets, she's more than capable of flying one. Erina is not allowed to fly on her own for missions, instead she takes care of inventory, organising flight schedules of the squad, and sometimes (rarely) gets to be co-pilot. One particular mission caused the squad to lose their leader, and several of their fighters, but Erina miraculously came back with an injured comrade... and the sight to see strange things she'd never had before. The guilt ate her up, and she decided to drop out of the air force. The school insisted she takes the time off instead and offered her a place to come back if she ever changed her mind. She graciously accepted, but she herself doesn't know if she ever would. Mourning for the loss of her fallen comrades was one thing, seeing shadows and other-worldly things were another. And she has to learn to deal with both. Since the attack, Erina goes to therapy regularly as she suffers from slight trauma and depression. When things quiet down in her apartment and she's all by her lonesome, her mind tends to fall into pessimism and self-blame. After months of seeing her therapist, this happens less often as she busies herself with other things.
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[div class=box][div class=title]RELATIONSHIPS[/div][br][/br][br][/br]
[div class=title]Parents[/div] Alive.
[br][/br][div class=title]Darryon[/div] Deceased.
[br][/br][div class=title]person 03[/div] ...
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WIP
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Life.

In a constant state of overthinking
Helper

||Name||
Dae Ishikawa

||Age||
23

||Gender||
Male

||Ethnicity||
Half-Japanese/Half-Korean

||Occupation||
Cashier/Composer for small jobs

||Appearance||
A blend of ethnics, Dae stands at a height of 5'8" and weighs about 110 lbs. He has natural light brown hair along with light brown, almond-shaped eyes. The shape of his face could be described as oval shaped with prominent cheekbones. However he doesn't have much of an angular jaw structure, rather it's more rounded which grants him a "baby-face". As for his body structure, he's pretty much thin. Not much muscle to his body as he is not athletic and hardly desires much physical effort.

||Personality||
Upon first impression Dae may seem apathetic and distant but that would be invalid to assign him to such characteristics. Rather he can be an awkward caterpillar that with some nurturing can be a social butterfly, it all depends on the people he is with and the situation he is in. Dae is a calm, laid-back individual who will run away from any chance of stress, anger, or sadness. Which is ironic since majority of his songs express those very feelings he tries to avoid in real life. In a way it expresses the internal struggle he faces in maturing and accepting the negative emotions and the effects it can have on him mentally.

Besides the conflict that churns inside of him, Dae enjoys the company of people, most of the time. There are those moments where he likes to be by himself and live in the moment, not worrying or thinking about anything. But the times he is simply around people you can catch him smiling to just about anybody, not in a creepy way though. He will simply grant a small smile, nothing more, nothing less. Dae cherishes most of his moments in life since they give him reason for his purpose. Even if some of those moments may be uncomfortable or bad. He learns quick on lessons, tangible and intangible.

One thing that Dae tries his hardest on besides his composing is creating and maintaining relationships. He will always do his best on being compatible with that other person. He will listen to them, joke with them, reassure them, encourage them, and so much more. But he's not gullible enough to allow someone to take advantage of him. Dae respects himself as he does to others and he will only try to be a great friend if they have the same respect for him as he does for them.

With all this being said, don't let Dae fool you. As any human, he has his dark side. Stubborn, selfish, cowardly, and dishonest.

||Biography||
Dae's living situation as a child was being raised by his grandmother and a mostly absent father. Dae's mother passed due to complications from his birth. So it resulted with Dae and his father to move in with his grandmother. Well due to her old age, the most she could do was care for Dae, which honestly wasn't much beside making sure that he was fed and at least occupied. As for his father he was out most of the time working to earn enough money for him and his mother (Dae's grandmother). So Dae was often by himself either wandering the streets around the house, exploring the house itself, or at school when it was school-time. It was all fun and games for Dae as he imagined himself as an explorer or a spy, playing with other children until he began seeing the spirits. At first he felt that his imagination was running wild and that they were creatures of his mind. But as more and more came across his vision he realized that some were much more malevolent than he would have imagined them. When he realized he didn't have control over his "imaginary friends" was when he concluded they were more than just figments of his mind.

The thought that there were things beyond his imagination haunted him, especially since it appeared that no one else saw them. Dae felt alone. People began to ostracize him when he tried to tell them what he saw. They called him crazy, insane, "not in the right mind." Dae became desperate for an escape. At times he would hide, curl up as small as he could in a corner or a box. His grandma, despite her fading mind, would always manage to find him and comfort him whenever Dae was home. It was her warmth that kept him sane for the rest of his childhood. He learned that he had to fend for himself with this struggle. But he at least had someone to go to if he ever needed the comfort.

That was until she passed. Dae was 13 when she passed. While he had grown to be independent for most of his development, his grandma was his sanity anchor. With her gone, he felt himself slipping once again into an abyss as the creatures and figures continued to flood his vision. It became overwhelming. Dae wanted an escape once more, even considering the idea of ending his life. That was until he stumbled upon an old piano left behind by his grandma. Dae was aware that he had inherited certain rooms from the house and all the objects the room contained from his grandma, but despite all the times he explored it he didn't realize she owned a piano. A piano that was now his. Some feeling urged him to play it, and when he pressed down on that first key he felt comfort. Dae felt that he had control over something, and that a bubble appeared around him when he played. Dae had found a passion.

Seven years passed and during this time his father continued to work to provide for Dae and to pay for his schooling. He was homeschooled though since he wasn't motivated to attend a public school. Throughout his education he taught himself how to play the piano and even began to compose some original scores. Dae had such a strong love for music that he wanted to make that as his career. Unfortunately his circumstances would not allow that since the money for a music school was expensive, his father didn't support him, and his father had succumbed to an illness. Dae's father received cancer from the laborious job he worked to support him. Due to that fact Dae felt responsible to take care of his father and try to find a way to fund for any type of treatment for him, he took it upon himself to simply direct all the funds he earns towards his father rather than to the savings to pay for tuition at a music school.

As for Dae's interactions with spirits, he has grown to live with them by ignoring them. Throughout his adolescence and childhood he was afraid of them and what they might do to him. But once he saw majority were harmless, in the sense that they didn't bother with him, he began to ease up around them. How Dae stands now against the spirits is with some fear but mostly with acceptance that they are there.

||Snippet||

--Flashback--

A grotesque creature with sharp, snake eyes and slithery, slimy tongue stood in the corner of the hallway simply watching. A young boy stood on the other end with his hand on his chest, his knees bent slightly, and his eyes staring the beast down. It was just him and the beast. No one else, from the people he knew, saw him. Dae was alone in two worlds.

The young boy had the strong urge to peel his eyes away from the creature in search of a safe spot, but he felt that if his eyes looked away for even a second he would lose track of the figure. And that would not settle well inside of Dae. It was a similar feeling to people who wanted to keep track of where a cockroach was so that they knew how to kill it or avoid it. But in Dae's situation he was dealing with a much larger creature that seemed to move relatively faster than an insect.

But there was another factor playing into his urgency to move. Dae needed to pee.

Sweat began to slide down his face as his body was trying its best to restrain his urine. The creature still had not move. Clearly this one was a lot more clever than the rest and saw the effect it was having on Dae. Either it enjoyed to see Dae suffer or it was curious of Dae.

As much as Dae didn't want to move, his bodily needs overruled his fear. So with a quick glance away from the spirit his eyes targeted the doorknob to the bathroom. Once his eyes located the doorknob, his legs immediately sprung forward, and like a gazelle he sprinted his way into the bathroom. As soon as his whole body was in the room, Dae slammed the door shut behind him as if it would keep the spirit away. He rested his forehead for a moment to regain his composure and to allow his heartbeat to settle since it was pumping fast.

Once he felt calm enough, Dae opened his eyes and turned around ready to fulfill his business. What met him was a pair of sharp, snake eyes and a slithery, slimy tongue staring at him from the corner of the bathroom. A scream left the boy's lips as he backed into the door. His heartbeat accelerated and sweat began to soak to his shirt. As for his pants, it was beginning to become soaked, not from sweat but from the urine he held. Unfortunately this wasn't the first pair of pants Dae has warmed up through pee.

||Theme||
 

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