Post by Val Channing on May 25, 2013 19:52:27 GMT -5
HEAR US NOW - - -
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LET THE WHOLE THING BLOW
B A S I C I N F O
★ NAME: Val Oliver Channing.
★ NICKNAME: Some of the gang members call him Omega.
★ MEMBER GROUP: Gijinka.
★ POKEMON: Toxicroak.
★ STATUS: Illegal.
★ AGE: Eighteen years.
★ HEIGHT: Five feet, six inches.
★ WEIGHT: One hundred seventeen pounds.
★ FACE CLAIM: Debitto from D.Gray-man
★ APPEARANCE:
While he isn't particularly tall nor thin, the manner in which he carries himself manages to give off that appearance. Head down, hands in pockets, Val knows perfectly well how he appears; he does it on purpose. The tattoos on his eyes easily set him apart from the general population as a gang member, so he embraces the role. The few people who do bother to speak to him will often witness his dangerous grin - a sign not of friendliness or affection, but of warning.
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P E R S O N A L I T Y
★ POSITIVE:
• resourceful
• witty
• reliable
• persuasive
• tolerant
★ NEGATIVE:
• cynical
• secretive
• anti-social
• distrustful
• violent
★ HABITS, QUIRKS:
• Lover of bass music, boredom often causes him to sway to some personal beat.
• Typical signs of affection are negative in nature (offering or receiving); smiles are a warning, laughter is derisive, and hugs are a death sentence, etc.
• He pokes his food repeatedly before eating it.
★ OVERALL PERSONALITY:
Highly reclusive and more than a little self-destructive, Val is precisely the sort of person that most people avoid on the street. With nothing more than cynical or perverted remarks to make, he's a terrible conversationist - unless you somehow get him on topics like deceit, intrigue, or murder. These things absolutely fascinate him. Murder for the sake of murder, however, is taboo. People should only be killed in order to gain a tactical advantage of some sort - otherwise, you could throw off the balance of some other asshole's plans and, bam, new enemy.
He has no interest in ladies. While he may be despicable in everything else he does, misogyny is, like killing for killing's sake, one of his taboo. People are people are people to Val, and unless they are a target of some sort, there is nothing more interesting about them. If anything, women on the hitlist are often easier targets due to their chests being more receptive to pain and their own fear of what a young man can do to them.. No, he is not below threatening such acts.
If you insist on seeing 'the good in him,' then perhaps his natural brightness falls as some sort of redeeming quality. While he isn't book smart in the slightest, his mind works somewhat like a sponge: he need only see something once before it becomes ingrained in his memory. He's quite adept at problem solving as well, though his means may be deplorable at best. All in all, the optimist would say that had the gang not found him before the police, he could have been the model of a good kid.
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H I S T O R Y
• He was born to a single mom.
• She dropped him off at orphanage shortly thereafter.
• Got along with kids just fine - it was the adults that chased him off.
• He was a street crawler from ages 8 to 10.
• Some time in December, a nameless gang picked him up.
• They honed his lying ability and taught him stealing and pickpocketing.
• They recognized his genius and promised him a "promotion" if he kept it up.
• Excited, he began participating in bigger jobs to prove his worth.
• At age 14, a man died at his hands for the first time.
• The gang revealed the gift: stolen Pokemon DNA.
• He didn't want the injection, but couldn't refuse in the face of blackmail.
• Since then, he has functioned as the gang's primary hitman and as head of recon.
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P L A Y E R I N F O
★ OOC NAME: Acrasia.
★ AGE: Old enough.
★ OTHER CHARACTERS: Not applicable.
★ RP SAMPLE:
He stood quietly in the back corner of the room, body mostly hidden by the shadows of the walls. Hands in his pockets, head down, there was barely any signal that the kid was even conscious. As it turned out, Val - the gang's Omega - was carefully analyzing every section of the garishly furnished room. The gang didn't call itself anything - a genius move by the leader, really - but as far as gangs went, they had a lot to be proud of. Furniture fit for royalty adorned nearly every square foot of the underground room, with priceless paintings lining the walls and a carpet so thick it perfectly masked the comings and goings of its inhabitants.
How did a place like this go unnoticed by authorities? It was a a question the gang leader himself often asked them, as a motto of sorts to make sure they were never found out. "Because it has no name," was the expected response, "and people don't look for what they don't know." That was to make sure no one went around blabbing to anyone about their operation here. In reality, their greatest defense was the building's numerous entries through other buildings, its locked doors, and the floor panel beneath the upstairs carpet that actually led to the hideout. The place was a maze. The fresh meat always had to have an escort to make it back, and even some of the veterans occasionally lost their way.
And it had no name.
Val's arm twitched, a rather strange reaction to things he found amusing. Frankly, all of the kid's reactions were strange - almost the reverse of what was expected of people his age. He didn't care. It kept him alive.
Having looked over the room thoroughly twice now, he decided that nothing was out of place. Likely they weren't planning to off him - they simply had gotten lost. Of course, just to prove him wrong, he heard the quiet click of the trapdoor and the soft thuds of padded shoes coming down the stairs. Finally.
The gang leader entered first. Normally that was a terrible sign, and on reflex Val's head popped up and his hands immediately went to hover over the knives hidden in the false pockets of his jeans. The leader smirked at that. Not taking the warning, Val maintained his position.
"Relax, Omega," the man said, still smiling the smile that was more about the teeth than the gesture, "we've brought you something." Four of the other members - all the highest up, Val noted, still not relaxing - fanned out behind him, one of them holding a small, elongated box. "We figure it's about time you were promoted.."
Of course, while the gang had an obvious hierarchy, there were no named ranks. It was known, however, that of the five standing before him, each and every one was a gijinka. The gang leader got his legally - the other four were all given theirs by the leader, because he felt the power one received from it was advantageous both as an esteem booster and a device through which he could control his "creations."
Val wanted no part of it.
"I want no part of this."
That got all five of them laughing quietly, a dangerous situation if he'd ever been in one. He flexed his hands and tensed his body low, expecting them to jump. Instead, the gang leader stopped.
"Little Omega, you've been with us for a long time now. If you wanted no part of it, you should have backed out sooner." He turned to take the box, proffering it to Val as though it were the offerings for a god. "You've killed a man. In fact.."
From beneath the box, he swiped out a morbidly stained driver's license. It was impossible for Val not to recognize that face. Eyes wide, shoulders slumped, he fell against the wall behind him. Blackmail. Trapped.
"Why would you want to inject someone who doesn't want to be here?" he asked faintly, watching as one of the members opened the box and took out the needle, prepping it for use.
"Little Omega," the leader said, "you do want to be here. This will be the Eden after the Second Coming."
Plans for world domination. As the crook with the needle came over, grabbed for Val's arm, and found a vein faster than most nurses could, the only thing Val could think was, 'How cliche.'
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★ template was made for wretches and kings, do not steal ★
★ template was made for wretches and kings, do not steal ★
CLEAR AND TRUE
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