Post by Seiren Arashi on Sept 30, 2019 7:09:43 GMT -5
Character Name: Seiren Arashi
Desired Faction: Hero
Desired Tier: Tier IV
Brief explanation of what your goals are: Seiren will hopefully be a pro-hero. Clashing against those who seek to prey upon society and its innocent civilians, one of Japan's more notable heroes and celebrated within the media. He might have his own hero agency, but should at least be in a position to mentor those would-be-heroes.
As a response to this, write a solo (of decent length ((your discretion))) that will show us this start-up in action!
The artificial lighting of Shinjuku was bright but not quite glaring upon Seiren’s face, as well as the faces of the hundreds of others that walked about the metropolitan district under the newly fallen dusk. He needn’t worry about eyes drifting his way, focussing upon his ashen hair, freckled cheeks or “too blue” eyes – no gasps of ”ohmygosh, Blackout – it’s Blackout!” to leave him cringing.
Not unless he allowed his jacket to slip down his shoulder anyway.
Seiren liked such nights, nights where he could adopt the mask of an average punk instead of his customary dark half-mask, to the point where they had considerate value. Were precious, perhaps. With his leather messenger-bag, messily “accessorized” with an assortment of chains and edgy stickers, slung over his right shoulder and containing his notebook of poetry and prose, the blond stood, briefly, at a pedestrian light. The colour red, he scrolled through his smartphone. Fingertips typing across the screen.
It took a minute for his phone to chime, receiving the confirming text.
In a recent televised interview, masked and dressed in costume before the screens of cameras, he had been asked what “helpful” advice he had to give to those would-be-heroes hoping to emulate him. And Seiren felt the same as he had when he had answered – ”do not give 100% to that dream.”
Heroism was a tough gig. Rewarding – but tough. It claimed as much as it gave and it was frighteningly easy to burn oneself out. It was why there were so few heroes pushing past their forties.
Over-working, over-burdened, over-traumatized could cause a man to develop deep-rooted resentment for those who placed him so high.
For Seiren, he was spending the night, free from the responsibilities of heroism, as he had a few times before, at one of Shinjuku’s independent coffee shops. His notebook contained a few choice verses for the scheduled slam poetry event, prepared well in advance. And he was going to sample the house special, cheer and holler just like anyone else.
Before a muscle along the nape of his neck tensed, intuitive warning honed from experience – yet split-seconded and singular before tremendous force slammed into his back. Gritting his teeth, Seiren managed to keep his feet and to save his phone. Which could not be said the same for others. Where once the night had been calm the air had abruptly split, both literally and physically.
Gale winds beat savagely at Seiren’s hair and clothes, battered against the Shinjuku landscape too, upturning and airborne-ing anything not securely fixed to the ground. Those not as fortunate as Seiren were vocalizing their distress, an unpleasant cacophony paired with car-alarms and the hot sizzle of damaged electrical wirings. Righting his posture, Seiren looked over his shoulder to spy a humanoid figure, more swirling air-like vortex than skin and flesh and bone. Somehow the lack of a visible mouth didn’t deter the being from monologuing.
A roll of his too-blue eyes and Seiren unshouldered his bag, reaching in he then pulled out a dark half-mask and proceeded to pull it down over his features.
”Blackout! Blackout’s here!” Already nearby people were taking notice, their expressions of distress slowly easing into relief. Seiren rolled a shoulder, vividly-blue sparks of electricity breaking across his skin and clothing from the motion.
It looked like he was working that night after all.
Desired Faction: Hero
Desired Tier: Tier IV
Brief explanation of what your goals are: Seiren will hopefully be a pro-hero. Clashing against those who seek to prey upon society and its innocent civilians, one of Japan's more notable heroes and celebrated within the media. He might have his own hero agency, but should at least be in a position to mentor those would-be-heroes.
As a response to this, write a solo (of decent length ((your discretion))) that will show us this start-up in action!
The artificial lighting of Shinjuku was bright but not quite glaring upon Seiren’s face, as well as the faces of the hundreds of others that walked about the metropolitan district under the newly fallen dusk. He needn’t worry about eyes drifting his way, focussing upon his ashen hair, freckled cheeks or “too blue” eyes – no gasps of ”ohmygosh, Blackout – it’s Blackout!” to leave him cringing.
Not unless he allowed his jacket to slip down his shoulder anyway.
Seiren liked such nights, nights where he could adopt the mask of an average punk instead of his customary dark half-mask, to the point where they had considerate value. Were precious, perhaps. With his leather messenger-bag, messily “accessorized” with an assortment of chains and edgy stickers, slung over his right shoulder and containing his notebook of poetry and prose, the blond stood, briefly, at a pedestrian light. The colour red, he scrolled through his smartphone. Fingertips typing across the screen.
Sappho, right?
It took a minute for his phone to chime, receiving the confirming text.
K. Be there in 10 d(-_^)
In a recent televised interview, masked and dressed in costume before the screens of cameras, he had been asked what “helpful” advice he had to give to those would-be-heroes hoping to emulate him. And Seiren felt the same as he had when he had answered – ”do not give 100% to that dream.”
Heroism was a tough gig. Rewarding – but tough. It claimed as much as it gave and it was frighteningly easy to burn oneself out. It was why there were so few heroes pushing past their forties.
Over-working, over-burdened, over-traumatized could cause a man to develop deep-rooted resentment for those who placed him so high.
For Seiren, he was spending the night, free from the responsibilities of heroism, as he had a few times before, at one of Shinjuku’s independent coffee shops. His notebook contained a few choice verses for the scheduled slam poetry event, prepared well in advance. And he was going to sample the house special, cheer and holler just like anyone else.
– or at least he was going to.
Before a muscle along the nape of his neck tensed, intuitive warning honed from experience – yet split-seconded and singular before tremendous force slammed into his back. Gritting his teeth, Seiren managed to keep his feet and to save his phone. Which could not be said the same for others. Where once the night had been calm the air had abruptly split, both literally and physically.
Gale winds beat savagely at Seiren’s hair and clothes, battered against the Shinjuku landscape too, upturning and airborne-ing anything not securely fixed to the ground. Those not as fortunate as Seiren were vocalizing their distress, an unpleasant cacophony paired with car-alarms and the hot sizzle of damaged electrical wirings. Righting his posture, Seiren looked over his shoulder to spy a humanoid figure, more swirling air-like vortex than skin and flesh and bone. Somehow the lack of a visible mouth didn’t deter the being from monologuing.
A roll of his too-blue eyes and Seiren unshouldered his bag, reaching in he then pulled out a dark half-mask and proceeded to pull it down over his features.
”Blackout! Blackout’s here!” Already nearby people were taking notice, their expressions of distress slowly easing into relief. Seiren rolled a shoulder, vividly-blue sparks of electricity breaking across his skin and clothing from the motion.
It looked like he was working that night after all.
