Post by Takeda on Jan 8, 2014 10:23:41 GMT -5
(Sorry in advance if this is too TL;DRish, after a long time away from rping, I had to get it all out.)
Name: Takeda Akiyama
Age: 23
Date of Birth: November 8th
Birthplace: Tokyo Japan
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual (Although, there was this one time in Pompeii...)
Face Claim: Original(Unknown Artist)
Appearance:![]()
Height: 6'0 ft
Distinguishing Features: About the only distinguishing features about Takeda, other than the fact that his hair is dyed red, is that he has an ear ring in his right ear. (Don't Ask.)
Class: Persona User
Arcana: The Tower
Occupation: Of the many professions that he wished to undertake in his life-time, being the daytime clerk at the Manga-Max store below his apartment was not on Takeda's list.
Weapons and Proficiencies (Optional):Takeda isn't one for charging headlong into danger. He prefers the comfort of a pistol grip in his hand. A fan of firearms since an early age, he had one smuggled in pieces to him, during a series of armed robberies. His training is fairly basic, gathered from a few old instructional tapes left in a local thrift shop. Fairly accurate, his pistol causes piercing damage. Currently, the old Browning Hi-Power is all he has, and it's in dubious (Level 1) condition at best.
Personality: Takeda Akiyama comes across, to most people, as the very portrait of a disgruntled blue-collar employee. Day in, day out, he wears a patronizing smile for each and every one of his customers. From the the pimple ladden tweens, who want their favorite shonen character in figurine form, to replace the neglect of their parents, to the the pimple ladden adults, who want their favorite shonen character in figurine form to masturbate to. Disgusting. All of them disgust him. Takeda comes across as a very cynical, and sarcastic individual to those that enter the store, and those he doesn't know. The only few customers he treats well, are those that have been around long enough to not fit into what he considers the "archetype"...even then, the most he'll usually do for them is sneak them a free issue, or maybe buy an eight ounce for them. Manga-Max manages to bring out the worst in Takeda, as if the place literally devours his happiness...there was a time he'd never be caught dead in this place. Now he wishes he was dead in it...at least then they'd have to close it down.
As for friends? Takeda is an avid drinker, and it shows when one stumbles into the foul smelling den of self-loathing known as his apartment...his friends never see the interior of this place, no, no. More often than not, before his brother moved in, Takeda found himself hitting the bar scene almost every day, with a crowd of drunken winos that he loosely attached the term friend to. From clubs to bars, he was truly the very antithesis of a home-body, doing everything to avoid the miserable mess of his existence at that abominable place. To his friends, he's a foul mouthed, but somewhat fun man to be around. He'll drink them under the table, most of the time, laugh at a joke, but it all rings hollow, as if something just isn't there for him. Outside of bars, nightclubs, and little drinking parties at houses, he typically doesn't do much with his friends, coming across as somewhat distant to most.
The opinions of others, and those he keeps at arms length aside...Takeda is truly a sad man. He presents himself with a sarcastic, distant act to those he despises, and never goes beyond skin-deep when it comes to conversational topics with anyone he comes across. At few points does he let this slip, other than when he's drunk...then he shows his true colors. He does not cry, he does not mourn the loss of his dreams and ambitions, he merely exists, like an animal. When drunk, he's cold, irritable, but honest...much like he wishes he could be with the people he calls friends. But no...they're not truly friends. Just vessels for him to talk to, and act human. Once upon a time, he was jovial, creative, and it still shines through on occasion, but it is buried deep within the muck of self-loathing, bitterness, and despair. Seldom will he brood, and even more rarely will he bring himself to share his displeasure, but Takeda considers himself utterly, and completely defeated.
Should someone catch him on a good day, or should the planets align during a drunken stupor, he'll let slip some of the good qualities in him, his artistic side will shine through, hell, he may even tell of past loves and exploits, but it is very rare...and the cold, disconnected air with which he carries himself, is thick indeed.
Likes: [*]Classic art
[*]Old movies
[*]Tasteful music
[*]The company of a beautiful woman
Dislikes: [*]Typical Teenagers
[*]Loud animals
[*]People who can't take a hint
[*]Modern anime and manga
History: Born on a cold November evening, in a packed maternity ward in Tokyo, Takeda Akiyama was the son of a Japanese salaryman, and a mother he later claimed to be the biggest whore since Babylon. Much like his estranged half-brother, it didn't take too long for his father to split, yet for much different reasons, he suspects...naturally, he was forced to live with his mother. Finances were taken care of by his father, but...that didn't keep things from being rough. At an early age, Takeda knew very well that his mother was something of a local pariah. A drunken mess, she was looked upon as the local bicycle...and given enough time, Takeda grew to share that opinion. Man after man showed up, some wanting Takeda to call them his father, and others simply passing through, like so many blurs along the highway. The boy would frequently find himself in fights with neighoring children over taunts over his mother, and it didn't take long for him to grow to resent her. School was his solace, there, he excelled at his studies, even earning the equivalent of honor roll, back home. In school, there was ambition, outside of it, the quagmire that made up his broken home. In second grade, his mother threw a drunken tantrum and kicked him out of the house for a night...needless to say, he wasn't happy with how his childhood was going.
Time passed naturally, and things grew ever more distant between Takeda and his mother. By the time he had reached high school, it was as if he was living with a complete stranger, and the feeling was mutual. Takeda was doing well in school, and seemed to have a particular knack for the arts, whereas his mother sat at home, a drunken mess that could barely draw flies to her at that point. Friends passed, loved ones moved on or changed, and the only constant was a state of separation between the two. His father would occasionally whisk him away for a weekend, wherein Takeda was genuinely happy, and was indulged in a life somewhat less grey than that which he had been left with. His father had moved on, found a girlfriend, soon to be an ex...then another, then another...but Takeda admired the man. As he neared graduation, those aforementioned visits came less frequently, but the two seemed to get along just fine.
When the time came to leave his house, Takeda finally unloaded a lifetime of hatred onto his mother, slammed the door shut, and never looked back. Calls would come, he'd be begged for forgiveness, and he'd pay lip service. He was free. The young man's father paid for his college, and he had the time of his life. Drunken parties, lost loves, and his one true one...the arts. There was a certain beauty in bringing life to the canvas, in giving meaning, to where there was none. Depth, that was what he loved...a meaning. His grades were excellent, his passion burning, as he was congratulated on some of his paintings. Graduation was a sad time for him, for academics really did manage to make him happy. He left the school with a developed taste for alcohol, art, and a lust for life.
It didn't take long for things to die down after college. Seeking employment as an artist, he was approached by relatively unknown manga authors to do illustrations, and after just two sessions, found it not to his liking. The characters lacked substance, a human element. Quality was sacrificed for quantity, or occasionally the unnatural movements of some animated harlot's gigantic air-bags. After turning down other candidates, he sought to simply paint, and hopefully find himself a niche in the art scene. The result was completely underwhelming. In Japan, his art was viewed as the attempts of a misguided youth to ape Western culture, in the west, it was viewed as simply antiquated in comparison to more expressionist works. With time, Takeda found himself relying on the finances of his father to keep afloat, and try to make it big.
One day, the money stopped coming, the letters and correspondences simply stopped. Takeda was cut off completely by his father, the reasons as to why still perplex him. Not having spoken to his father in years, he still cannot find rhyme, nor reason as to why he was left out to dry. Takeda spiraled downwards, and an already beaten down artist turned to the bottle more and more for inspiration. Desperation was what drove him to eventually stop painting, and towards a temporary year of sobriety, before he fell off the wagon. In that same desperation, he found himself working odd jobs all across Tokyo, before finally giving up on the city in frustration. Arriving in Mosaic City, in the hope that he could find a fresh start, all Takeda found was the bottom of a bottle.
Without a penny to his name, the clothes on his back, and a begrudging acceptance that he would never be a major artist, Takeda found work throughout the city, just as he had in Tokyo. Eventually, his somewhat drifting lifestyle ushered him towards a run down store beneath a decrepit apartment complex...a store by the name of "Manga-Max". The owner made an arrangement that Takeda could live in one of the apartments, with rent/utilities coming out of his paycheck. Accepting it, Takeda effectively put himself into indentured servitude, with barely enough money to eat and support his growing lust for alcohol. Embittered by his utter defeat, Takeda formed hollow relationships with many on the bar scene, more often than not, just people to borrow money from. His life went by for no more than three months in this horrid state, before his telephone rang with a familiar voice on the other line.
Takeda's mother had given the boy a call after years of neglect, and pleaded with him to care for another, unknown bastard child. Obviously, he was not pleased with it, but after being coaxed night and day by incessant phone calls, he caved in. Before that moment, he had no clue that he had a brother, let alone thought that he'd have to care for him. After a bus ride to the airport, and awkward introductions, Takeda took in Seiji, his brother. The two did not get along well at all. In Seiji, he saw everything he despised about himself when he was younger...the boy was aloof, blank, seemingly uncaring, and so full of potential...he hated him from the moment they laid eyes on each other.
For a time after that, Takeda found himself getting the boy used to his new, cramped home. Financially strained just by supporting himself, Takeda could scarcely visit a pub, due to the fact that he now had to care for a teenager. Measures were taken, he distanced himself from the boy as much as he could, and found himself embittered by Seiji's attempts at kindness. At times, he yelled, at times he simply told him off, but there was a barrier as thick as the Berlin Wall between them. By the end of it, he just ignored him.
Suddenly, one day a state of emergency was declared, and the inhabitants of the city were sealed off from the rest of the world. Through bloodshot eyes, Takeda watched the reports on television, seeing that there was a nuclear leak outside of the city. A full scale military blockade was enacted...and it perplexed him. Even through the haze of his hangover, he found himself taken aback by the lack of interest the people of the city seemed to show towards it...if there was a nuclear leak, why didn't the city get evacuated? It made much more sense...something was amiss, but he couldn't guess as to what it was.
Every week or so, for a time, he found himself pacing the sidewalk, heading to the edge of the cordon, staring at the barriers. Takeda wondered as to the conditions on the outside, if they could escape the city by some means, although it always ended with him backing down and getting drunk.
Over the course of those few weeks, the two brothers tried to bond, going out to movies on occasion. On one such outing, Takeda smuggled in some whiskey, and Seiji off-handedly mentioned how that he enjoyed how things turned out...it popped the cork on Takeda's misery. In a stupor, he let loose expletives, called his brother the filthy spawn of a whore and an imperialist, and stormed out of the theater. Rage and booze reinforced his will, and he pulled up a manhole, determined to break the blockade by way of the sewers. Stumbling around in fetid darkness, he eventually found a rusted ladder...what he thought was the way to freedom. As he gripped it, the shadows themselves began to move, and the darkness seemed as if it had a life of it's own...he was alone.
Takeda had always been pragmatic, and due to a string of robberies in the area before the blockade, had a Browning pistol smuggled in piece by piece. Thankfully, he had it on him, as in his rush to the theater, he forgot to store the weapon in the hollowed out space in his medicine cabinet. Clutching the pistol in his hands, he fired into the darkness clumsily, the flash illuminating that the shadows had masks. Now knowing that he wasn't about to be netted by soldiers, but rather by these inhuman beasts, his situation felt hopeless.
Somehow, Seiji made it into the sewers that night, and something changed in him. Seiji found Takeda, just as his brother was about to be torn limb from limb, a great power awoke within him...and that night, Seiji saved his life. Needless to say, his treatment of the boy grew a bit better, though still distant.
Then came the night...mere days after the incident, wherein Takeda felt his morbid curiosity build to a breaking point. What were those things? Why did the military do nothing about them? One night, he left his apartment, with Seiji still in bed, to go and check those sewers for himself. Something made him want to go. Something he couldn't explain with rhyme or reason...his feet were no longer his, but whatever force was driving him now owned them. He waited in the rank darkness of the sewers, staring down the blackness intently...and when the masks emerged, something seemed to happen inside of him. Closing his eyes, he felt a rush of warmth flow over him, and quickly, he opened them. Floating before him was card, in his own, outstretched hand. With grim intent, he crushed the card in his hand. In short order, the shadows were dispersed, with Takeda baring few in the way of wounds, which were healed by a strange spell that came near naturally. Since that night, the only time he's visited the blockade was to stare it down with a bottle of Jack in hand, and meet it with a whisper..."You can't hold me forever."
Since that night, Seiji and Takeda have been secretly plotting to find a way out of the city. Whilst Seiji can move independently, Takeda works, helping in the planning, between drinks. On his few days off, he drinks, pretends things are normal, meets with the husks he calls friends...and looks for weaknesses in that god damned wall.
OOC Name: Edgar Allan Fro, or Shin, depending on the day.
Persona: Faust
Appearance: A long, floating black cloak flows to the ground, slightly opening down the middle to reveal a worn, bare chest that appears slightly frozen over. Faust's face is covered by a deep hood that only leaves a lower jaw covered by a thick white beard exposed. Only his right hand is exposed, a liquid the color of dried blood constantly dripping from his pointer finger. Faust's coloration is almost too perfect to be real, as if he was plucked from a classic painting.
Persona Lore: A figure from German legends. Faust was a brilliant scholar that grew dissatisfied with his life as he grew older. He made a pact with the devil through his agent Mephistopheles, agreeing to give the devil his soul after twenty four years of earthly pleasure. It is only in later tellings of the legend that Faust finds redemption, instead being dragged to hell by the devil after his years of pleasure were finished.
Skills:
[*]Dia[/ul]
Strengths and Weaknesses:[/b] Resistant against Mudo, weak against Bufu.
Name: Takeda Akiyama
Age: 23
Date of Birth: November 8th
Birthplace: Tokyo Japan
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual (Although, there was this one time in Pompeii...)
Face Claim: Original(Unknown Artist)
Appearance:
Height: 6'0 ft
Distinguishing Features: About the only distinguishing features about Takeda, other than the fact that his hair is dyed red, is that he has an ear ring in his right ear. (Don't Ask.)
Class: Persona User
Arcana: The Tower
Occupation: Of the many professions that he wished to undertake in his life-time, being the daytime clerk at the Manga-Max store below his apartment was not on Takeda's list.
Weapons and Proficiencies (Optional):Takeda isn't one for charging headlong into danger. He prefers the comfort of a pistol grip in his hand. A fan of firearms since an early age, he had one smuggled in pieces to him, during a series of armed robberies. His training is fairly basic, gathered from a few old instructional tapes left in a local thrift shop. Fairly accurate, his pistol causes piercing damage. Currently, the old Browning Hi-Power is all he has, and it's in dubious (Level 1) condition at best.
Personality: Takeda Akiyama comes across, to most people, as the very portrait of a disgruntled blue-collar employee. Day in, day out, he wears a patronizing smile for each and every one of his customers. From the the pimple ladden tweens, who want their favorite shonen character in figurine form, to replace the neglect of their parents, to the the pimple ladden adults, who want their favorite shonen character in figurine form to masturbate to. Disgusting. All of them disgust him. Takeda comes across as a very cynical, and sarcastic individual to those that enter the store, and those he doesn't know. The only few customers he treats well, are those that have been around long enough to not fit into what he considers the "archetype"...even then, the most he'll usually do for them is sneak them a free issue, or maybe buy an eight ounce for them. Manga-Max manages to bring out the worst in Takeda, as if the place literally devours his happiness...there was a time he'd never be caught dead in this place. Now he wishes he was dead in it...at least then they'd have to close it down.
As for friends? Takeda is an avid drinker, and it shows when one stumbles into the foul smelling den of self-loathing known as his apartment...his friends never see the interior of this place, no, no. More often than not, before his brother moved in, Takeda found himself hitting the bar scene almost every day, with a crowd of drunken winos that he loosely attached the term friend to. From clubs to bars, he was truly the very antithesis of a home-body, doing everything to avoid the miserable mess of his existence at that abominable place. To his friends, he's a foul mouthed, but somewhat fun man to be around. He'll drink them under the table, most of the time, laugh at a joke, but it all rings hollow, as if something just isn't there for him. Outside of bars, nightclubs, and little drinking parties at houses, he typically doesn't do much with his friends, coming across as somewhat distant to most.
The opinions of others, and those he keeps at arms length aside...Takeda is truly a sad man. He presents himself with a sarcastic, distant act to those he despises, and never goes beyond skin-deep when it comes to conversational topics with anyone he comes across. At few points does he let this slip, other than when he's drunk...then he shows his true colors. He does not cry, he does not mourn the loss of his dreams and ambitions, he merely exists, like an animal. When drunk, he's cold, irritable, but honest...much like he wishes he could be with the people he calls friends. But no...they're not truly friends. Just vessels for him to talk to, and act human. Once upon a time, he was jovial, creative, and it still shines through on occasion, but it is buried deep within the muck of self-loathing, bitterness, and despair. Seldom will he brood, and even more rarely will he bring himself to share his displeasure, but Takeda considers himself utterly, and completely defeated.
Should someone catch him on a good day, or should the planets align during a drunken stupor, he'll let slip some of the good qualities in him, his artistic side will shine through, hell, he may even tell of past loves and exploits, but it is very rare...and the cold, disconnected air with which he carries himself, is thick indeed.
Likes: [*]Classic art
[*]Old movies
[*]Tasteful music
[*]The company of a beautiful woman
Dislikes: [*]Typical Teenagers
[*]Loud animals
[*]People who can't take a hint
[*]Modern anime and manga
History: Born on a cold November evening, in a packed maternity ward in Tokyo, Takeda Akiyama was the son of a Japanese salaryman, and a mother he later claimed to be the biggest whore since Babylon. Much like his estranged half-brother, it didn't take too long for his father to split, yet for much different reasons, he suspects...naturally, he was forced to live with his mother. Finances were taken care of by his father, but...that didn't keep things from being rough. At an early age, Takeda knew very well that his mother was something of a local pariah. A drunken mess, she was looked upon as the local bicycle...and given enough time, Takeda grew to share that opinion. Man after man showed up, some wanting Takeda to call them his father, and others simply passing through, like so many blurs along the highway. The boy would frequently find himself in fights with neighoring children over taunts over his mother, and it didn't take long for him to grow to resent her. School was his solace, there, he excelled at his studies, even earning the equivalent of honor roll, back home. In school, there was ambition, outside of it, the quagmire that made up his broken home. In second grade, his mother threw a drunken tantrum and kicked him out of the house for a night...needless to say, he wasn't happy with how his childhood was going.
Time passed naturally, and things grew ever more distant between Takeda and his mother. By the time he had reached high school, it was as if he was living with a complete stranger, and the feeling was mutual. Takeda was doing well in school, and seemed to have a particular knack for the arts, whereas his mother sat at home, a drunken mess that could barely draw flies to her at that point. Friends passed, loved ones moved on or changed, and the only constant was a state of separation between the two. His father would occasionally whisk him away for a weekend, wherein Takeda was genuinely happy, and was indulged in a life somewhat less grey than that which he had been left with. His father had moved on, found a girlfriend, soon to be an ex...then another, then another...but Takeda admired the man. As he neared graduation, those aforementioned visits came less frequently, but the two seemed to get along just fine.
When the time came to leave his house, Takeda finally unloaded a lifetime of hatred onto his mother, slammed the door shut, and never looked back. Calls would come, he'd be begged for forgiveness, and he'd pay lip service. He was free. The young man's father paid for his college, and he had the time of his life. Drunken parties, lost loves, and his one true one...the arts. There was a certain beauty in bringing life to the canvas, in giving meaning, to where there was none. Depth, that was what he loved...a meaning. His grades were excellent, his passion burning, as he was congratulated on some of his paintings. Graduation was a sad time for him, for academics really did manage to make him happy. He left the school with a developed taste for alcohol, art, and a lust for life.
It didn't take long for things to die down after college. Seeking employment as an artist, he was approached by relatively unknown manga authors to do illustrations, and after just two sessions, found it not to his liking. The characters lacked substance, a human element. Quality was sacrificed for quantity, or occasionally the unnatural movements of some animated harlot's gigantic air-bags. After turning down other candidates, he sought to simply paint, and hopefully find himself a niche in the art scene. The result was completely underwhelming. In Japan, his art was viewed as the attempts of a misguided youth to ape Western culture, in the west, it was viewed as simply antiquated in comparison to more expressionist works. With time, Takeda found himself relying on the finances of his father to keep afloat, and try to make it big.
One day, the money stopped coming, the letters and correspondences simply stopped. Takeda was cut off completely by his father, the reasons as to why still perplex him. Not having spoken to his father in years, he still cannot find rhyme, nor reason as to why he was left out to dry. Takeda spiraled downwards, and an already beaten down artist turned to the bottle more and more for inspiration. Desperation was what drove him to eventually stop painting, and towards a temporary year of sobriety, before he fell off the wagon. In that same desperation, he found himself working odd jobs all across Tokyo, before finally giving up on the city in frustration. Arriving in Mosaic City, in the hope that he could find a fresh start, all Takeda found was the bottom of a bottle.
Without a penny to his name, the clothes on his back, and a begrudging acceptance that he would never be a major artist, Takeda found work throughout the city, just as he had in Tokyo. Eventually, his somewhat drifting lifestyle ushered him towards a run down store beneath a decrepit apartment complex...a store by the name of "Manga-Max". The owner made an arrangement that Takeda could live in one of the apartments, with rent/utilities coming out of his paycheck. Accepting it, Takeda effectively put himself into indentured servitude, with barely enough money to eat and support his growing lust for alcohol. Embittered by his utter defeat, Takeda formed hollow relationships with many on the bar scene, more often than not, just people to borrow money from. His life went by for no more than three months in this horrid state, before his telephone rang with a familiar voice on the other line.
Takeda's mother had given the boy a call after years of neglect, and pleaded with him to care for another, unknown bastard child. Obviously, he was not pleased with it, but after being coaxed night and day by incessant phone calls, he caved in. Before that moment, he had no clue that he had a brother, let alone thought that he'd have to care for him. After a bus ride to the airport, and awkward introductions, Takeda took in Seiji, his brother. The two did not get along well at all. In Seiji, he saw everything he despised about himself when he was younger...the boy was aloof, blank, seemingly uncaring, and so full of potential...he hated him from the moment they laid eyes on each other.
For a time after that, Takeda found himself getting the boy used to his new, cramped home. Financially strained just by supporting himself, Takeda could scarcely visit a pub, due to the fact that he now had to care for a teenager. Measures were taken, he distanced himself from the boy as much as he could, and found himself embittered by Seiji's attempts at kindness. At times, he yelled, at times he simply told him off, but there was a barrier as thick as the Berlin Wall between them. By the end of it, he just ignored him.
Suddenly, one day a state of emergency was declared, and the inhabitants of the city were sealed off from the rest of the world. Through bloodshot eyes, Takeda watched the reports on television, seeing that there was a nuclear leak outside of the city. A full scale military blockade was enacted...and it perplexed him. Even through the haze of his hangover, he found himself taken aback by the lack of interest the people of the city seemed to show towards it...if there was a nuclear leak, why didn't the city get evacuated? It made much more sense...something was amiss, but he couldn't guess as to what it was.
Every week or so, for a time, he found himself pacing the sidewalk, heading to the edge of the cordon, staring at the barriers. Takeda wondered as to the conditions on the outside, if they could escape the city by some means, although it always ended with him backing down and getting drunk.
Over the course of those few weeks, the two brothers tried to bond, going out to movies on occasion. On one such outing, Takeda smuggled in some whiskey, and Seiji off-handedly mentioned how that he enjoyed how things turned out...it popped the cork on Takeda's misery. In a stupor, he let loose expletives, called his brother the filthy spawn of a whore and an imperialist, and stormed out of the theater. Rage and booze reinforced his will, and he pulled up a manhole, determined to break the blockade by way of the sewers. Stumbling around in fetid darkness, he eventually found a rusted ladder...what he thought was the way to freedom. As he gripped it, the shadows themselves began to move, and the darkness seemed as if it had a life of it's own...he was alone.
Takeda had always been pragmatic, and due to a string of robberies in the area before the blockade, had a Browning pistol smuggled in piece by piece. Thankfully, he had it on him, as in his rush to the theater, he forgot to store the weapon in the hollowed out space in his medicine cabinet. Clutching the pistol in his hands, he fired into the darkness clumsily, the flash illuminating that the shadows had masks. Now knowing that he wasn't about to be netted by soldiers, but rather by these inhuman beasts, his situation felt hopeless.
Somehow, Seiji made it into the sewers that night, and something changed in him. Seiji found Takeda, just as his brother was about to be torn limb from limb, a great power awoke within him...and that night, Seiji saved his life. Needless to say, his treatment of the boy grew a bit better, though still distant.
Then came the night...mere days after the incident, wherein Takeda felt his morbid curiosity build to a breaking point. What were those things? Why did the military do nothing about them? One night, he left his apartment, with Seiji still in bed, to go and check those sewers for himself. Something made him want to go. Something he couldn't explain with rhyme or reason...his feet were no longer his, but whatever force was driving him now owned them. He waited in the rank darkness of the sewers, staring down the blackness intently...and when the masks emerged, something seemed to happen inside of him. Closing his eyes, he felt a rush of warmth flow over him, and quickly, he opened them. Floating before him was card, in his own, outstretched hand. With grim intent, he crushed the card in his hand. In short order, the shadows were dispersed, with Takeda baring few in the way of wounds, which were healed by a strange spell that came near naturally. Since that night, the only time he's visited the blockade was to stare it down with a bottle of Jack in hand, and meet it with a whisper..."You can't hold me forever."
Since that night, Seiji and Takeda have been secretly plotting to find a way out of the city. Whilst Seiji can move independently, Takeda works, helping in the planning, between drinks. On his few days off, he drinks, pretends things are normal, meets with the husks he calls friends...and looks for weaknesses in that god damned wall.
OOC Name: Edgar Allan Fro, or Shin, depending on the day.
Persona: Faust
Appearance: A long, floating black cloak flows to the ground, slightly opening down the middle to reveal a worn, bare chest that appears slightly frozen over. Faust's face is covered by a deep hood that only leaves a lower jaw covered by a thick white beard exposed. Only his right hand is exposed, a liquid the color of dried blood constantly dripping from his pointer finger. Faust's coloration is almost too perfect to be real, as if he was plucked from a classic painting.
Persona Lore: A figure from German legends. Faust was a brilliant scholar that grew dissatisfied with his life as he grew older. He made a pact with the devil through his agent Mephistopheles, agreeing to give the devil his soul after twenty four years of earthly pleasure. It is only in later tellings of the legend that Faust finds redemption, instead being dragged to hell by the devil after his years of pleasure were finished.
Skills:
[*]Dia[/ul]
Strengths and Weaknesses:[/b] Resistant against Mudo, weak against Bufu.
