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Post by Edward Teach on Aug 2, 2013 7:37:15 GMT -5
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Male | Robosexual | Shinigami ALIASES:Blackbeard, Dickhead, Pooch AGE:333 AGE OF APPEARANCE:30-40 SQUAD:9th RANK:Captain
It’s only a dead man who has everybody on his side FACE CLAIM:King of Fighters - Mr Big
HEIGHT:187 cm
WEIGHT:81 kg
APPEARANCE:
A man with a mental mask as well as a physical. Pooch's face is rarely shown without the usual black sunglasses. These appear strictly on the proper place, not on his forehead like some stupid twat. Small signs of aging blemish his face, the wrinkles on his brow, his lack of hair, the flecks of gray in his facial hair. Small things, but they added up, giving signs of a person that has lived beyond their years. His body is muscular, to a point. He's a heck of a lot bulkier then the usual femboy you run across. Hell, he rivals some of the larger people around. This causes a slight intimidation factor to come into place, which is an item that Pooch embraces without any sign of regret whatsoever. Pooch's clothing is odd, matching a halfway impression of seriousness, ending up with only mock power. Hair seems to have escaped his head, crawling down a few inches and resting firmly on his face. Because of this, Pooch has a bitching set of facial hair.
Everyone has a mark that makes them remembered, be it bright hair or a stupid teeshirt. Pooch instead was given a bitching coat. A deep blue velvet color, rigged with a white fur lined collar and wrists. A white belt hangs from the loops in the belt, something that is rarely used, apparently taking the position only of looks. Under this item is a brown button up vest. Along with this item is another, seemingly in pair with the belt, in the fact that it's only a fashion statement, and not a very good one at that. A white scarf is tucked into the vest, showing a sign that wouldn't seem out of place in a Victorian era, perhaps a throwback to his past. The remaining items are strangely basic, white pants and leather shoes, things that you would see on any old Joe Blog.
Upon entering his Bankai, Pooch's body undergoes a radical change in shape. This is a deep iron color that spreads over his body. During this form, any hair that he has on him, sucks back into his body. This transformation doesn't simply cover Pooch's skin. Every single aspect of his body goes under a change. His eyes lose the color in his sclera, turning into a black tone, while his iris takes on a red/pink color. His nails extend, giving off a dark black color as well.
He who talks loud saying nothing LIKES: Money - An allocation that shouldn't be listed so highly in the majority of the populations mind. However, with time on the earth comes an awareness of certain factors. Money is followed with power, the more money the more power, the more respect. A simple desire that fits into most of the population to a very minor extent, it's instead shown to a large extent here. Gambling is the name of the game, being both rich and poor seconds apart from each other. Perhaps it came into light from the knowledge that he could never truly die, leading him to take more risks then a normal person would deem necessary.
Vitamins - A replacement for the normal desires of the human body, all compressed down into one small pill. An item that he delves into twice a day, morning and night. Despite not having any effect on his spiritual body, it does make him feel difference. Affecting only his mental health, over his physical health. Perhaps it just made him feel like more of a man.
Carrot Cake - When god was handing out the popularity awards, he really forgot about this poor thing. The oddball of the cake world, not made with some nut or some sweet fruit, instead it's made with a vegetable. Pretty much putting it into the worst possible position around. Whatever, it was a niche thing that he grew attached to.
DISLIKES: Australians - Perhaps it was a bad egg among many, that could be one way to pin it down. Eitherway, Australians just get on his nerves. He would rather they just shut up and died as they lived, with animals in their heart.
Idiots - Such a broad title usually slapped down on people who don't deserve it by people who do. It's more of a situational thing then anything else in this situation. Basically said to be people who have a different mindset to himself in such a radical way that he deems it impossible. Either that or those bubbly fuckers.
White Knights - The kind of people who try and do good deeds despite the odds and logic lying against you. Hell, some of them even would betray their friends, just to do what they deemed right. It really grinds his gears.
Quincy - The kind of fools that dressed themselves up with all kind of fancy jewelry and shot beams of light into your ass. Perhaps it was the past between them, but once you went to war on someone, it was kinda hard to let them go.
NEGATIVE TRAITS: Hotheaded - An item that would otherwise be considered a positive trait, however in the area of a man who could punch your face into a modern art master piece, it's become a rather negative trait. Anything that the man can't deal with, is usually met with a swift punch to the face.
Gambling - Greed is a sin, which would make Pooch a very sinful man. Pirating lead him to living between both lines of wealth simultaneously, gambling acts simply as an extension to this. This comes across in several ways, hell, he's been around for awhile, it's only natural that he would reach out to it in several different ways.
Racist - Perhaps that last message about the Quincy was just skimped over a bit too much. The hate Pooch has for these people isn't a natural thing, it's more of a inbuilt thing. Years of counting them as his enemy, his mind has been hardwired to accept them as such.
POSITIVE TRAITS: Motivated - To hold such a position, it's only natural that one would require at least a small sense of this. Pooch on the other had been motivated for the full duration of his life and his death. Heck, one doesn't go and pillage the seven seas without a lick of the attribute in question. This was a trait that seemed to carry on after death, reaching onto a new persona instead going from a motivation to do things that would otherwise cause harm to a motivation of redemption. Fueled by this desire, Edward Teach now focuses his mind onto reaching his newly achieved sense of right and wrong, even if it is a little skewered at times.
Loyal - Now, we're not talking loyal in the same sense of say a little dog or another various pet. No, if you're some regular fool who gave him some food, he will kick your face in just like anyone else. No, there are a few key members of everyone's life that just got a special place. Pooch's life is no different, the few people who reach the special place on his heart are treated as such.
Detached - A trait that wouldn't be considered positive in the majority of the population. However, when put into application, it definitely comes across as such. Not being attached to various targets allows Pooch to do his damn job efficiently, none of this betraying the group for the sudden love of a random shit. It simply let him do what he did without stress.
EXTRAS:Edward Teach's arrogant, it would be hard not to in his position. Sadly this comes out in way to many aspects. He tries not to lean too heavily between a alignment of either good or evil, instead finding himself shoved rather oddly into chaotic neutral. This is ok. This leads him to suggest and do things that would be considered rather 'evil' well also standing up for others and generally following the law. In general Pooch considers himself a bad guy, however the years of life that he has had makes him a rather mellow person about this. His protective nature came from his two children which he lost in his time in the coffin. For the most part Pooch is eccentric to say the least, often his actions can change halfway through doing something. Risky situations are everyday occasions for, he doesn't believe he can die so why bother trying to be safe. This long life is often followed by a large list of other bad habits, the biggest of these is gambling and swearing.
Being a creation that has survived events that would crush a normal person, Pooch's personality has been slightly morphed. Becoming that of a slight self worshiper
Pooch is a pretty cool guy and he doesn't afraid of anything. He looks like what you want to look like, he fucks like you want to fuck, and he is an utterly indelible creation. Rules are rules, and are generally so for a reason, however no one ever got anywhere by following these to the letter. Because of this Pooch often has a problem of taking things too far, having jokes that are a little too serious. Pooch tends to be a twat, he'll piss in your coffee, shit in your dishwasher and put you down all the wrong paths. This tends to lead to a large amount of dislike. Friends are few and far between, however they tend to be able to avoid the negative features of his personality, the rest of the world can burn for all he cares. Greed is a sin and Pooch is sinful, a man of his tastes he takes in all of them, usually without moderation. He's a man who lives in the moment, either saying nothing or everything, acting on impulses and regretting it seconds later. A sucker for theatrics, he tends to say things that are too dramatic or spend to much time either talking, or thinking. Love is a weird emotion for Pooch to handle, he doesn't express it in the uniform way, it coming out much more physical, much darker even to the point where he considers death the final kindness. Everyone deserves to die, this is a fact, no one's immune to this, every single person has done damage that should be paid with for life. Because of this Pooch looks upon man people as being lower then him, not to a serious level, but simply to the fact where he doesn't enjoy the high and mighty, simply because everyone sins. Fighting is something to be relished, often leading to him getting into situations that would lead to a decent fight. Pooch is a man that isn't afraid to fight dirty, often leading to him going for low blows on more then one occasion. Needless to say, morality is not his strong point.
WEAPONS:Pistol - A small item from a world Pooch no longer belongs too. None the less, it has its merits. Being able to drop a fool from a distance, without firing a giant blast of energy is a nifty trick. Anyhow, it's a twelve shot pistol, with a small reserve of ammo.
ZANPAKUTO:name: Stacy
sealed form: Stacy's takes on the basic form of a Tanto when sealed. A nifty short little blade, it allows for him to control his weapon, without having to over compensate like a fucking child.
spirit: Stacy takes the form of a middle aged woman, for some damn confusing reason. Her body is that of a well toned, fair skinned woman, whose physique has been gifted with notable curves. Her long black hair is styled in dreads, tied back into a pseudo ponytail, dark eyes accompany this look. Stacy's clothing is follows the same sort of design. A white, long sleeveless coat, which ends just below her knees. Under the coat, dark pants are worn with plain wooden sandals finishing her basic attire.
Personality wise, Stacy is the polar opposite to Pooch. While he manages to be a motivated self indulging mess, Stacy achieved the title of the lazy monk. She lives a life attempting to strive away from the pleasures of the universe, something she will often try and pass on to Edward, no matter how often it's said to be unwanted.
Nonetheless, she tends to be one of the more mouthy spirits, demanding that Pooch ask her before he uses his Shikai, claiming that it's 'for his own good'. She seems to have taken a mother like nature upon herself, leading to her becoming the forced adopted mother of the poor Shinigami. It's been rumored that it is this mothering nature that leads to Pooch's Shikai and Bankai.
inner world:
A world of steel and iron. Skyscrapers line the horizon. A steam punk styled area, covered with a series of hidden buildings. A series of houses, on top of others in a feudal format. A world built on the foundations of its dying brothers, perhaps the greatest form of recycling. The area stretches as far as the eye can see, perhaps being an infinite world. Abandoned, the area has no residents, only the spirit, Stacy. The weather is constant, a constant stream of rain. Have you ever seen the rain? This leads to water pooling around the base of the steel towers, the ground being long forgotten.
SHIKAI:release command: Stacy's mom has got it going on.
description: Pooch's arms transform into a dark, metallic color as the blade fades away. This comes with elongated, dark colored nails as well. In this form it makes use of highly enhanced defense and the ability to absorb kinetic energy and use it against the opponent.
type:Defensive
techniques:
For: Shikai Name: Stacy's Guard Type: Passive/Defensive Cooldown: N/A Cost: Low Range: N/A Description: Considered the ultimate defensive zanpakuto, Stacy prides herself on her defensive capabilities, as she shields Pooch with her very own form, coating his arms up to the shoulder with a dark material that takes it's durability from her very blade itself, making his arms his very own Zanpakuto. The nails of this form are sharp enough to slice exactly as a zanpakuto would, whereas the other covered areas are just as resilient to damage.
For: Shikai Name: Body of Karma Type: Passive Cooldown: N/A Cost: Low Range: N/A Description: One of stacy's biggest principles is that you take just what you give in life. What goes around, comes around, and it's clearly manifested in the abilities she grants to Pooch. Whenever Pooch's enhanced arms deliver or withstand a strike with any sort of force behind it, they absorb store the raw kinetic energy, allowing it to build up over time. While this in no way lessens damage or impact from said blows, it allows the kinetic energy to be released at a later time for incredible amounts of damage, depending on how much is stored.
For: Shikai Name: Full release Type: Offensive Cooldown: 3 posts Cost: Medium Range: Varies (depends on how much force is released) Description: Pent up energy always needs somewhere to go, and Stacy doesn't believe in keeping things inside. Using the kinetic energy built up from Body of Karma, Pooch can release it all at once in a strike, copying the exact amount of force stored down to the T. Depending on the amount released, this attack could be possibly devastating and reach great distances, creating shockwaves of pure physical energy.
For: Shikai Name: Partial release; Waves of Zen Type: Offensive Cooldown: None Cost: Low Range: Close/Medium Description: Another technique based on Body of Karma, Waves of Zen is a much more mellow version of Full release, trading power for sheer spammability. As Pooch throws a punch, his body gathers the kinetic force behind it, condensing it into a shockwave that is launched at his target, dealing damage according to his Hak stat. The main downside to this technique is that it only uses the kinetic force of the punch, and none of the other stored energy, meaning it would only hurt as bad as his punches would. Limited to five per post.
BANKAI:
name: Stacy's Devotion
description: This time, Pooch's entire body becomes covered in the same substance as shikai, spreading from his arms all of the way across his chest to his face, creating a solid mask that he can somehow breathe through safely. His clothes have seemingly disappeared in this form, revealing only black pants, and red markings covering his body.
type:Defense
stat upgrades: HAN: 0 REI: 0 HAK: 2 SEI: 1 BUK: 3 HOH: 2
techniques:
For: Bankai Name: Stacy's Truth Type: Passive Cooldown: N/A Cost: Low Range: N/A Description: An advancement on the basic shikai form, Pooch's defensive capabilities have now spread to his entire body, as a result of Stacy's motherly instincts causing her to protect him with all she has. In this new form, he also gains the properties of Body of zen across his whole body, this effectively being a combination of the two passives Shikai grants.
For: Bankai Name: Eight Fold Destruction Type: Offensive Cooldown: 4 posts Cost: Medium Range: Close/Medium/Long Description: A technique taking advantage of Pooch's new state allowing his whole body to store kinetic energy, this attack is a full body charge, where Kinetic energy from the body's sudden movement is stored and instantly released in the same moment, causing a giant wave of compressed physical force to fly outward, aiming to destroy all in it's path. It's destructive capabilities are frightening, as it's power is based off of Pooch's physical strength. (hakuda)
For: Bankai Name: Heavenly release Type: Offensive Cooldown: 7 posts Cost: High Range: Long Description: The most powerful form of release currently available to Pooch, Heavenly release is the manifestation of Stacy's vengeance to all who would strike against her perceived child, Pooch. Taking all of the Kinetic energy stored within his body, he releases it all at once in a giant sphere of pure destruction that can reach up to 100 feet in diameter depending on the amount of force released. This attack is particularly devastating due to the fact that the stored energy is actually released in a way that increases the output of the force by 1.75x the original, though it is incredibly tiring.
For: Bankai Name: Zen Mode Type: Offensive/Utility Cooldown:N/A (can only be used once in a thread) Cost: Massive Range: N/A Description: Considered the pinnacle of Stacy's bankai form, Zen mode is the result of Pooch allowing Stacy to calm his soul, effectively temporarily fusing the two into an even further bonded being. The dark substance on his skin glows bright white as markings begin to appear all across his body. In this form, every single movement Pooch makes gathers the kinetic energy from said movement into his body, not just strikes delivered or taken, allowing him to build up large amounts of kinetic energy in an incredibly short time. While this form is active, the cooldown of heavenly release is reduced to 4, however Zen mode may only last for up to 10 posts, after which Pooch will be completely unable to continue fighting in said thread.
INNER HOLLOW:
name: Doug
appearance:
A man with a mental mask as well as a physical. Doug's face is rarely shown, however if one did manage to peal away the red item they would find a rather cool and collected face, never showing any large signs of shock or surprise, almost emotionless. Showing signs of slight aging, sunken eyes, wrinkled forehead, hollow cheeks. Small things, but they added up, giving signs of a person that has lived beyond their years. His body is lean, muscles are their, never being very shown or obvious. Because of this a first glance would give of the appearance of someone who's weak, not worthy of much attention, which is just the way Doug wants it. His hair is his biggest teller of his personality, light, thick and a light tone of pink. Waving in the wind it gives a great contrast with his clothing. Doug's clothing is odd, matching a halfway impression of seriousness, ending up with only mock power. A lose suit is usually worn at all times, shirt barely tucked in, lose collar, tie usually not tightened.
personality: Dougis an arse in the most extreme sense. Sharing all the Hollow's desire for killing, Doug focuses on it in a slightly more sinister way, this being on the passive act of trying to convert the host. Simple things, all the inspire anger or despair. Because of this almost ever interaction will be that of a trick, an attempt to fool the host into releasing their inner demons. That said, the majority of the time Doug is one of the calmer demons, often constantly sleeping, unless bothered for a loan of power, something that is all to hilarious. A slight quirk that it has is on occasions taking control of the eye affected by the facial mutation of the host, often using it to focus on things that it finds more important.
hollow mask:
Doug's mask comes across in the form of a Tengu, resembling that of his own face. This mask is deep read, and covered with white facial hair. Which is rather ironic, after all, he finally gets a proper beard and it's white. Apart from this, the mask really has no special features so to speak of, apart from the giant sausage nose.
stat upgrades: HAN: 0 REI: 0 HAK: 0 SEI: 0 BUK: 4 HOH: 0
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[/td][/tr][/table] made by MOCKINGBIRD of BTN[/center]
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Post by Edward Teach on Aug 10, 2013 23:36:13 GMT -5
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The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn from the crow. HISTORY:Human coupling, millions upon millions of cells compete to create life, for generation after generation until, finally, your mother loves a man. Life is a miracle, one that among its constant use we seemed to have neglected. Hell, some sell it as a trade, an item that can be used in the same area as bread or meat. It was here that the events of the universe came into a singular event, creating Edward Teach. Not the greatest beginning possible for the worlds greatest pirate, but it was a beginning.
The morals that he learned early in life stuck to his mind like glue. The need to steal and cheat simply to live, it allowed him to become who he was now. Naturally being one of many, Edward had to fight to survive. Taking small jobs here and there, but the real money came from dirty deeds. Everyone knew that.
Sometime in 1716, Teach joined the crew of Benjamin Hornigold, at that time one of the most feared pirates in the Caribbean. Hornigold saw great potential in Teach, and soon promoted him to his own command. With Hornigold in command of one ship and Teach in command of another, they could capture or corner more victims and from 1716-1717 they were greatly feared by local merchants and sailors. Hornigold retired from piracy and accepted the King's pardon in early 1717, since he was a total wuss and apparently being a pirate was too damn scary for his stupid ass.
Stede Bonnet was a most unlikely pirate: he was a gentleman from the Barbados with a large estate and family who decided he would rather be a pirate captain. He ordered a ship built, the Revenge, and fitted her out as if he were going to be a pirate hunter, but the minute he was out of port he hoisted the black flag and began looking for prizes. Bonnet did not know one end of a ship from the other and was a terrible captain. After a major engagement with a superior ship, the Revenge was in bad shape when they limped into Nassau sometime between August and October of 1717. Bonnet was wounded, and the pirates on board begged Blackbeard, who was also in port there, to take command. The Revenge was a fine ship, and Blackbeard agreed. The eccentric Bonnet stayed on board, reading his books and walking the deck in his dressing-gown.
Blackbeard, now in charge of two good ships, continued to prowl the waters of the Caribbean and North America. On November 17, 1717, he captured La Concorde, a large French slaving ship. He kept the ship, mounting 40 guns on it and naming it Queen Anne's Revenge. The Queen Anne's Revenge became his flagship, and before long he had a fleet of three ships and 150 pirates. Soon the name of Blackbeard was feared on both sides of the Atlantic and throughout the Caribbean.
Blackbeard was much more intelligent than your average pirate. He preferred to avoid fighting if he could, and so cultivated a very fearsome reputation. He wore his hair long and had a long black beard. He was tall and broad-shouldered. During battle, he put lengths of slow-burning fuse in his beard and hair. This would sputter and smoke, giving him an altogether demonic look. He also dressed the part: wearing a fur cap or wide hat, high leather boots and a long black coat. He also wore a modified sling with six pistols into combat. No one who ever saw him in action forgot it, and soon Blackbeard had an air of supernatural terror about him.
Blackbeard used fear and intimidation to cause his enemies to surrender without a fight. This was in his best interests, as the victimized ships could be utilized, valuable plunder was not lost and useful men such as carpenters or doctors could be made to join the pirate crew. Generally, if any ship they attacked surrendered peacefully, Blackbeard would loot it and let it go on its way, or put the men aboard some other ship if he decided to keep or sink his victim. There were exceptions, of course: English merchant ships were sometimes treated harshly, as was any ship from Boston, where some pirates had recently been hung.
Blackbeard had a distinctive flag. It featured a white, horned skeleton on a black background holding a spear, which was pointing at a red heart. There are red "blood drops" near the heart. The skeleton is holding a glass, toasting the devil. The skeleton obviously stands for death - for enemy crews who put up a fight. The speared heart meant that no quarter would be asked or given. Blackbeard's flag was designed to intimidate opposing ship crews into surrendering without a fight, and it probably did!
In the late part of 1717 and early part of 1718, Blackbeard and Bonnet went south to raid Spanish shipping off of Mexico and Central America. Reports from the time indicate that the Spanish were aware of "the Great Devil" off the coast of Veracruz who was terrorizing their shipping lanes. They did well in the region, and by spring of 1718, he had several ships and close to 700 men when they arrived in Nassau to split up the plunder.
Blackbeard realized that he could use his reputation to greater gain. In April of 1718, he sailed north to Charleston, then a thriving English colony. He set up right outside Charleston harbor, capturing any ships that tried to enter or leave. He took many of the passengers aboard these ships prisoner. The population, realizing that none other than Blackbeard himself was off their shores, was terrified. He sent messengers to the town, demanding a ransom for his prisoners: a well-stocked chest of medicine, as good as gold to a pirate at the time. The people of Charleston happily sent it and Blackbeard left after about a week.
Near the middle of 1718, Blackbeard decided he needed a break from piracy. He devised a plan to get away with as much of his loot as possible. He "accidentally" grounded the Queen Anne's Revenge and one of his sloops off the coast of North Carolina. He left the Revenge there, and transferred all of the loot to the fourth and last ship of his fleet, leaving most of his men behind. Stede Bonnet, who had gone to unsuccessfully seek a pardon, returned to find that Blackbeard had absconded with all the loot. Bonnet rescued the men and set off in search of Blackbeard, but never found him (which was probably just as well for the inept Bonnet).
Blackbeard and some 20 other pirates then went to see Charles Eden, the Governor of North Carolina, where they accepted the King's Pardon. In secret, however, Blackbeard and the crooked governor had made a deal. These two men realized that working together, they could steal far more than they could alone. Eden agreed to officially license Blackbeard's remaining vessel, the Adventure, as a war prize. Blackbeard and his men lived in a nearby inlet, from which they occasionally sallied forth to attack passing ships. Blackbeard even married a young local girl. On one occasion, the pirates took a French ship loaded with cocoa and sugar: they sailed it to North Carolina, claimed they had found it afloat and abandoned, and shared the spoils with the governor and his top advisors. It was a crooked partnership that looked to enrich both men.
In October of 1718, Charles Vane, leader of those pirates who had rejected Governor Woodes Rogers' offer of a royal pardon, sailed north in search of Blackbeard, who he found on Ocracoke Island. Vane hoped to convince the legendary pirate to join him and reclaim the Caribbean as a lawless pirate kingdom. Blackbeard, who had a good thing going, politely declined. Vane did not take it personally and Vane, Blackbeard and their crews partied for a rum-soaked week on the shores of Ocracoke.
Local merchants soon grew infuriated with a pirate operating nearby, but were powerless to stop it. With no other recourse, they complained to Governor Alexander Spotswood of Virginia. Spotswood, who had no love for Eden, agreed to help. There were two British warships currently in Virginia: he hired 57 men off of them and put them under the command of Lieutenant Robert Maynard. He also provided two light sloops, the Ranger and the Jane, to carry the soldiers into the treacherous inlets of North Carolina. In November, Maynard and his men set out to look for Blackbeard.
On November 22, 1718, Maynard and his men found Blackbeard. The pirate was anchored in Ocracoke Inlet, and fortunately for the marines, many of Blackbeard's men were ashore including Israel Hands, Blackbeard's second-in-command. As the two ships approached the Adventure, Blackbeard opened fire, killing several soldiers and forcing the Ranger to drop out of the fight. The Jane closed with the Adventure and the crews fought hand-to-hand. Maynard himself managed to wound Blackbeard twice with pistols, but the mighty pirate fought on, his cutlass in his hand. Just as Blackbeard was about to kill Maynard, a soldier rushed in and cut the pirate across the neck. The next blow took off Blackbeard's head. Maynard later reported that Blackbeard had been shot no fewer than five times and had received at least twenty serious sword cuts. Their leader gone, the surviving pirates surrendered. About ten pirates and ten soldiers died: accounts vary slightly. Maynard returned victorious to Virginia with Blackbeard's head displayed on the bowsprit of his sloop.
Blackbeard had been seen as an almost supernatural force, and his death was a great boost to the morale of those areas affected by piracy. Maynard was hailed as a hero and would forever after be known as the man who had killed Blackbeard, even if he didn't do it himself.
Blackbeard's fame lingered long after he was gone. Men who had sailed with him automatically found positions of honor and authority on any other pirate vessel they joined. His legend grew with every retelling: according to some stories, his headless body swam around Maynard's ship several times after it was thrown into the water following the last battle!
Blackbeard was very good at being a pirate captain. He had the right mix of ruthlessness, cleverness and charisma to be able to amass a mighty fleet and use it to his best advantage. Also, better than any other pirates of his time, he knew how to cultivate and use his image to maximum effect. During his time as a pirate captain - about a year and a half - Blackbeard terrorized the shipping lanes between the Americas and Europe.
All told, Blackbeard had little lasting economic impact. He captured dozens of ships, it's true, and his presence greatly affected transatlantic commerce for a time, but by 1725 or so the so-called "Golden Age of Piracy" was over as nations and merchants worked together to combat it. Blackbeard's victims, the merchants and sailors, would bounce back and continue their business.
Blackbeard's cultural impact, however, is tremendous. He still stands as the quintessential pirate, the fearsome, cruel specter of nightmares. Some of his contemporaries were better pirates than he was - "Black Bart" Roberts took many more ships - but none had his personality and image, and many of them are all but forgotten today.
Blackbeard has been the subject of several movies, plays and books, and there is a museum about him and other pirates in North Carolina. There is even a character named Israel Hands after Blackbeard's second-in-command in Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island. Despite little solid evidence, legends persist of Blackbeard's buried treasure, and people still search for it.
The wreck of the Queen Anne's Revenge was discovered in 1996, and has turned out to be a treasure trove of information and articles. The site is under continuing excavation. Many of the more interesting relics found there are on display at the North Carolina Maritime Museum in nearby Beaufort.
Soul Society - Death greeted Blackbeard with a weird answer for life. He had decided a long time ago, that life was all there was, after that you simply ceased to exist. However, this didn't seem to come into effect here. It did however mean that he had a lot of loose ties to sort out. A major strategy in his past had been simply killing fools who he owed large sums of money to. These fools suddenly being alive really put a spanner in the works. There he could fight them, there he had a loyal crew. Here, here he was alone.
The answer was to hide. 80th District East. It reminded him of his home town, the area he had grown up in all those years ago. It was here that Blackbeard vowed to reclaim the previous majesty that he once had, even if it didn't exactly work out directly to plan.
80th District was the usual stink that he was used to, which was nice, it meant he had familiar tools to work with. He quickly gathered a small gang in the district, which allowed all of them to live comfortably. This gave them a place to live and even food, something Blackbeard didn't expect that he would need once dead, but who knew, it would seem that everyone was different.
Two years into the gang scene, Blackbeard joined the Shinigami academy. Here his natural leadership and prowess with a sword came into an immediate benefit, showing their use to the fullest extent. It also helped that he cut a few corners. Being able to force the smarter members of his academy to do his written work was a large help in this. After six years of being in the academy, Blackbeard was assigned to squad 11, the squad that lead the field in swordsmanship and melee combat, as an unseated officer. It was only natural, he hadn't shown much prowess in other fields.
The next forty years were of little importance. Small events happened, but in the grand scheme of things it was completely uneventful. The only item of mention would be discovering the use of his Shikai. A nifty little trick that he decided to keep in secret. After all, he had grown slightly to his work free job, only taking out Hollows when the mood hit him. It was a trade that he had really grown to like.
However, nothing stays perfect forever, someone always had t come along and ruin someone's dream. This someone happened to be the Quincy. An annoying bunch of fools that used jewelry to fight, which was a bit off in its own right. The events leading up to the war revealed another power that Blackbeard just so happened to have. His Bankai had activated mere hours before the war began. The defensive qualities that it held allowed him to tank the blows for his peers. Nonetheless, casualties were found. People he couldn't save, people who died.
The Quincy bounties did however leave him with a large sum of money, enough to retire, pay off his debts and live in a life of comfort. Everything seemed to be going his way after all. Sadly, nothing lasts, not forever. Gambling had been an affliction that had followed him his entire life, death seemed to be no different.
Over a course of decades, Blackbeard's money slowly dried up, his stocks of booty becoming nothing. Alas, it would seem that it was time to return to his previous post.
The events following are hazy even for Blackbeard. From what he could understand, he was knocked out by an unknown assailant while going to reapply for his job. He awoke after what he later found out to be a few hours later. His body seemed to go under instant changes. Little wee things, like turning into a human Hollow. It was a fairly traumatic experience, having someone else control a body that isn't even yours. It was a blessing that he was well away from any form of civilization. Still, a few people died before he managed to get the beast under control, leaving him only with a stupid looking mask.
It came to light soon after what had happened. He had become a Visored. The bastard fusion between a hollow and a Shinigami. It was a real mess, a real mess that he would rather keep under wraps. Meaning for the last hundred years, Pooch never again used his mask, or the powers that came with it. Lucky for him, his acts during the Quincy war had become that of a legend, snowballing from the meager feats they had likely been. Anyhow, he joining the 9th Division, believing that the 'Arts and Crafts' vibe would do wonders for his karma.
As time passed, a captain position soon opened up for our young Captain. It was during the transition to Captain that he had first decided upon the name Pooch. It came after a fellow member of the 9th Division called him a 'salty sea dog'.
Pooch has remained in the role of Captain for the last two years. During this position he's regularly sent out to deal with Hollows and the sort, trying to steer away from the arts and crafts as much as possible. His work in the Captain position has been focused on getting the Division the respect from others that it deserved. He recently became open about being a Visored, now that that it is legal.
RP SAMPLE:The red light of Mizore's body vibrated against the walls of his office. The edges of paper curled, the paint darkened. Perhaps someone would dare to extinguish him soon. It didn't matter, his mind was elsewhere. He hovered in the center of his office, legs folded arms crossed, his eyes staring out into the blankness of his mind. His body was naked, save for the lava forming it. It was an art of meditation, if one felt the desire to give a name to it. Not that he considered it as such. The vulnerability of nakedness, mixed with the invulnerability of being a being whose molecules had shifted to such an extreme level. To his right a pile of papers burst into flames. It wouldn't be long now. As the paper curled, he closed his eyes, bending his head downwards. Smoke began to flood the area. It would seem another fire had occurred. As the room flooded, its center was illuminated by a deep red light, constantly changing form, hidden behind the walls of smoke. A figure could be heard on the other side of the door. The handle jiggled and a yelp of pain was heard. More muffled movement as the flames began to spread to his desk, pockets appearing on the wall. Finally a mouth for the smoke appeared, causing it to filter outwards, as a figure stumbled inwards. A name, Mizore. It belonged to him. He knew that, but he didn't care. Not now, not for years. Perhaps he never had. "Mizore!" The figure reminded him of another, bouncing white hair, always looking after him, always following him. Always in control. A single figure entered the room, followed by a third. "Please... If everybody would just go away and leave me alone..." Still the cries continued, battling through their clouds of common sense, pushing through all demands of the man who carried them to the state that they were in now. He was simply an item, a tool to be played with. A man who was used in strength, not in mind. He was being used. "I said, leave me alone!" A demand met by force. A tension at boiling point. A wave of heat flooded from his body, bursting through the room bringing a red tinge with it. The cries of pain silenced the yells, the sound. Mizore straightened up, still hovering in the air. No longer made of the previous material, with only the smoke to cover his nakedness. He moved forward, tapping the closet door, causing it to pull open. He proceeded to tap his clothing in series, causing them to fly towards him, placing themselves onto his body. He continued to hover, as the last of the smoke exited the room, and his mask clicked into place. "Mizore! Mizore?" It rose again, the common call of violence. Jeb stumbled into the room, coughing at the smoke that Mizore had just noticed. It would seem that he had managed to choke the majority of the fire, leaving only embers, in both the walls and the bodies alike. He turned, glancing towards the bodies like he couldn't remember what they were, an image of reality. He recognized one of the bodies, the pretty girl, the one who had told him about vehicles, and made him think of the future. Jeb lay over her now, tears running down the sides of his face, pooling onto her, bubbling at her skin before turning into steam. It must hurt him to touch her. So why continue. Mizore moved forward, trying to pull Jeb from the girl. He pushed him away, clinging to the husk with the determination of a boy and whatever has become his pet. "Jeb, are you okay?" "Am I okay? Mizore how long have you been blind. She's dead!" The tears continued to dribble down onto her body, mixing with the blood from the cracks of her skin, and the sweat coming from Jeb, a mixture of humanity. Blood, sweat and tears. Something that Mizore could only feel that he had, not knowing. "A live body and a dead body have the same number of particles. Structurally there's no discernible difference. Life and death are unquantifiable abstracts. Why should I be concerned?" "Shut up! I hate you!" "Jeb, can't we talk?" The tears continued to form. This was pointless, there was no getting to him when he got like this. "If you think there's a problem with my attitude, I'm prepared to discuss it." It sounded like a false expression, even he could tell that. Not that it mattered.
The smooth leather remembered his touch, it stuck to him. Clinging to him. From now on it was just him and the chair. That was all that mattered. "What's up, Doc?" 'Doc' A nickname that Jeb seemed to have picked out for him. It would strengthen their relationship, making it less of a formal thing and more of a friendship situation. Suppose they were all friends with their therapists. They're all we really have left in the end. Someone who's paid to listen. The briefest reaction to the name occurred, a twitching of the brow. To anyone else it would seem like nothing. But to Jeb he might as well be crying his eyes out. That's what he did, he listened, he noticed things. "'Up' is a relative concept. It has no intrinsic value." He said the wrong thing, this was shown by the pouted lips and the writing. The problem with being in a enclosed space with a person for too long, you began to rub off on each other. The silence began to brew between them, the silence that pushed them apart. Soon he would be asked to stand up, to leave this chair. To leave this place where he was listened to. "What are you thinking?" Maybe not. Although it was a door to another problem, what was he thinking. The silence grew again. "How about this, what are you asking?" There, that fit the puzzle better. "I was asking the point of all the struggling; the purpose of the endless labor; accomplishing nothing, leaving people empty and disillusioned... Leaving people broken." More notes, he had said the wrong thing once more. The scratching of the paper was followed by his voice, "I'll admit, the human race hasn't added anything visible to the universe but... But don't we have some sort of importance to the universe beyond that? I mean, just the existence of life, isn't that significant?" Mizore paused, thinking over the problem. "In my opinion it's a highly overrated phenomenon. Mars gets along fine without so much as a micro organism. No life. No life at all, but giant steps, ninety feet high, scoured by dust and wind into a constant changing topographical map, flowing and shifting around the pole in ripples ten thousand years wide. Tell me... Would it be greatly improved by an oil pipe-line?" Silence, more notes. Wrong again, three strikes and he was out. "As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light of meaning to the darkness of mere being. I think it's time for you to go."
"It seems I'm incapable of cohabiting safely, either emotionally or physically. Perhaps you'd best tell them that I'm leaving." Mizore turned away from Jeb. Away from his husk. Away from humanity. His body already entering the form of lava, bubbling already. The wall behind him, this would be his exit point. He walked forward, towards the low hanging painting of a man he no longer recognize. Moving through it, the wood and oil bursting to flames at his touch. It would seem that the demon whale really had taken all resemblances to humanity that he had left. There was no hope for him. A husk of a human, leaving husks in his trail. He stepped onto the cool grass, its touch wilting away, it all wilted away. His hand idly moved through seals, a slow series as his body hurtled through space, moving into tomorrow.
Accidents happen. That's what everyone says. But in a quantum universe there are no such things as accidents, only possibilities and probabilities folded into existence by perception. Perhaps it was this idea that singled him out from his brother. He reappeared on the edge of a place he once called home. Assuming that he had reached Iwagakure and instantly become Tsuchikage would be a foolish idea, this wasn't how the world worked. He did have a house, once, a long time ago. He didn't know if the village elders knew about it, but in this instance he didn't care. The roof long fallen, walls collapsed, the one that mattered remained. A glass case, partially smashed, filled with photos. Few had fallen, the case was in most regards, untouched by the hand of time. Mizore reached forward, plucking an image from it. A sign of a memory. He pulled a single photo from the case, looking down upon it. In the darkened image, a white haired boy smiles at him, a dark haired boy under his arm, a smirk on his face. Both looking towards the camera, close together. No sign of hate, no sign of a difference between them. Simply two children. Mizore walked out of the house, looking up at the sky. Looking towards the heavens. Was he really there? Had he been there once, but now departed? A sphere of chakra rotated around him, tearing the ground to shreds. His ball of blue energy, slowly turning red, letting the whale inside determine the rest.
Perhaps the world is not made. Perhaps nothing is made. Perhaps it simply is, has been, will always be there... a clock without a craftsman. Stepping forward, Mizore took his first steps on his red planet. Mars was a different outlook on life than the simple thinking of Earth. Here, his world was a small star in a world of giants. It could explode right now. And the world wouldn't even notice. The red cloud of dust formed behind him as he walked, being much more animated in a world without boundaries. Like a car, the items the pretty girl told him about, like a car going down a dusty road. He collected a cloud. He didn't care for earth anymore. It was a wasted act, attempting to feel something that he had no right to feel or understand. The existence of life, lies and death. No. Here he was something else. Here he was Totally Indifferent.
The photograph is in my hand. It is a photo of two children in a house, in 1955. In twelve seconds time, I drop the photograph to the sand at my feet, walking away. It's already lying there twelve seconds into the future. Ten seconds now. The photograph is in my hand. I found it in a broken house, in the outskirts of Iwagakure, twenty-seven hours ago. It's still there, twenty-seven hours into the past, in its frame, in the darkened room. I'm still there looking at it. The photograph is in my hand. The photograph is in my hand. The boys lips spread. His eyelids freeze into place. Seven seconds now. It's winter, 1971. I'm on mars. It's March 1955. I'm in my father's house in Kirigakure. Four seconds. Three. I'm tired of looking at the photograph now. I open my fingers. It falls to the sand at my feet. I'm looking at the stars. They are so far away, and their light takes so long to reach us... All we ever see of stars are their old photographs. I am two hundred and twenty-seven million kilometers from the sun. Its light is already ten minutes old. It will not reach Pluto for another two hours. Two hours into my future I observe meteorites from a glass balcony, thinking about my father. Twelve seconds into my past, I open my fingers. The photograph is falling. I am watching the stars. Halley's comet tumbles through the solar system on its great Seventy-six-year ellipse. My father admired sky for its precision. He repaired watches. It's 1965. I sit in a Kirigakure kitchen, fascinated by an arrangement of cogs on black velvet. I am sixteen years old. It is 1971. I am twenty-one years old. The photograph lies at my feet, it falls from my fingers, is in my hand. I am watching the stars, admiring this complex trajectories. Through space, through time. I am trying to give a name to the force that set them in motion. It's May 12th, 1968. My first day as the new Mizukage's personal guard. A curled man shakes my hand. Asking Jeb to show me around. I am nineteen years old. Jeb steers me from the Kirigakure mist into a cool house. A sudden sense of Deja Vu: I've seen this place before... Except that it was deserted then, shining with starlight, shining down upon its rotted floorboards, through the collapsed ceiling... The illusion vanishes almost before it registers. It's summer, 1971. She brushes past my leg, her eyes looking into mine. A smile stretching across her face. It's June 20th, 1968. We're laughing after a mission, the previous aggression fueling out tenderness, in direct proportion. It's 1969. I'm tearful, wind blowing behind me, careless with anger. The photograph lies in the sand at my feet. It's March 1969. The accident is almost upon me now. The dark room filled with smoke, ropes binding my body to the ground. I ask them if they're going to feed me to the monster, laughing at my own stupidity. No one else laughs, Kain turns white. I ask them what is happening... And they tell me. The roof rips from above us, a mere brush of its finger. The light... The light is taking me to pieces. I feel fear for the last time. I am tired of this world, these people. I am tired of being caught in the tangle of their lives. I'm in Iwagakure, I'm entering the ruined room with a sensation of Deja Vu... And I'm taking the snapshot from its broken frame... And I'm gone. Gone to Mars. Gone to a place without clocks, without seasons, without hourglasses to trap the shifting pink sand. Below me, in the sand, the secret shape of my creation is concealed, buried in the sand's future. I rise into thin air. I am ready to begin. It's March, 1969. I am asking to be let go. But it is too late, always has been, always will be, too late. Two hours in my past, the photo leaves my fingers... It falls, lying in the sand at my feet.
The being that had followed Mizore for what seemed his whole life remained in the place that it always had. The same constant position, wedged somewhere between Heaven and Hell. His body turned, his head cocking to the side. The same being that would always remain just out of his vision, like an unwelcomed visitor. His mind danced across the scene at the bar. The overreaction. A haunting disorder caused by a lack of empathy. Empathy was what the world came down to in the end, some people had a lot, others had none. It would seem that in his current state of life, Mizore was in the latter group. His head turned back forwards, facing what had been tailing him his whole life. The effect could be similar to looking in a mirror, one of the altered ones from a carnival, the concave and convex. Seeing your reflection in flesh was something that you had to be used to if you wanted to get anywhere. But this, this was like looking in into what people thought of him. Twin perspectives. Empathy, feeling as other feels, how ironic. Doug had taken the form that people saw him as, a dark figure. Perception didn't turn a man into a monster, it simply split them into something in the middle. All of his negative features twisted in on themselves, magnified by a huge amount, while anything positive seemed to just shrivel away. "I'm not sure about this one too much myself. The clothing just seems a little odd. I mean, is this a cape or..." He mused, flicking down at the back of Mizore's cloak. The desire to leave this planet, this red stone suddenly grew. "Self solitude, locking yourself inside yourself. See, there's one little problem with that isn't there? I think you know what it is. You and I, we're the same. Not just sharing a body. But in here, ya dig?" He called, tapping at his head. "We think the same mojo, you understand. I mean, sure. You could try and blame a lot of stuff on me. But really, how much part did I play. It's not the guns fault it shoots someone, it's the mad man waving it around their head." The blank stare from Mizore seemed to be digging into Doug a tad. "You gone ahead and dashed off to some other planet, Mizore? Perhaps Neptune, heard it's good this kind of year." The thing was, Doug controlled the cards in this point. A situation in which he walked himself into the cage in the corner of the room. A state where he was in his world, under his domain. Now you're getting it, aren't you." The slight smile, a thing only seen by people used to the mask, the slight tightening of skin around the rest of his face. On himself, he thought it looked dashing, now it just made him sick. There was no way he could take a Bijuu. "There must be some kind of way out of here." He mumbled, looking around towards the series of worlds, dancing around the sky, only noticeable by the stars, swirling through a series of rocks and dust. It takes years for the suns light to reach us. All we ever see of stars are their old photos. "No reason get excited, who feel like life is but a joke." The presentation of the discern for life was an obvious link to people in both their lives. Kain. "Oh. You like that one now don't you? I can see the color returning into your cheeks a little there. Didn't know you were so cold, Mizore. Had no fucking idea." The ugly smile returned to his face, chuckling a little. He would need to make a note to not smile in the future. "Who am I kidding? Of course I knew." Oh man, Mizore was really starting to gain a dislike for himself, but he was right of course. Mizore had a demon locked into his body. And Doug was locked into the body of what he would consider to be the weakest thing. It was only natural that they would have a singular desire, focused into one key area. No man. You're reading me all the wrong way. I'm not locked in here with you. You're locked in here with me That ugly smile was really starting to rub Mizore the wrong way.
"So what are you trying to do here? It's obvious that I haven't been running at one-hundred-percent lately. What do you want, what's the fucking point of picking and pulling at me till I'm a stretched remain of what I was?" It made sense to Mizore in a kind of fucked up way. While he wouldn't bother dealing with Doug normally, now that he seemed to be in a state of no emotion, it was only logical for him to try and talk to the living bomb that he held inside of him. "Right, tell you what. I'll cut you a deal. Call it a long time member kind of deal. You dig? Spend so many years with us you get a bonus kind of deal." He paused, pushing on his metal helmet. |
[/color=teal]"Why do you wear this fucking thing? It's so damned awkward. You have a perfectly good face, better than most. You know? Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself and time is short. You, as in you and I. Will go down to Kirigakure, as in the place where this whole cross body fucking deal went down. Then you will run your hot fist through that son-of-a-bitches fucking face, as in, well, you know. I don't think you would forget something like that. Do this, do this one thing for me, and for you really. After all, revenge is the universal dish. Anyway, there I am getting away. Do this for me, and I will give you my power sandwich and my personality fries."[/color] Mizore paused, pouting slightly, watching as Doug gestured to a glass staircase, leading to a balcony, fitted with two chairs and a table. On which, Mizore could make out something that looked like a piece of paper, and a plate containing a sandwich and a pile of chips (chops if you're a disgusting Australian). "You know. Sometimes I really hate you Doug.""So. Have you ever seen the Mortal Kombat movie? Kombat with a 'K' too. Not a 'C'. I torrented it a few days ago. Weird movie man. I mean, the fights were alright and all. But they kept doing these sloppy game quotes. T'was kinda lame. You've played Mortal Kombat right? Oh, and it had Christopher in it. The Highlander? He was this thunder god thing, who did nothing the whole movie but had this really creepy laugh like. 'Heh heh heh'. And at the end Satan or something comes out, and The Highlander is all, 'Get some of this sweat booty.' I mean, the ending didn't make shit all sense. But it had The Highlander in it. The man who can do no wrong. Well, apart from Highlander Two? Ever seen it? They're like, aliens and shit. You don't know if they're six-thousand years old, or six-hundred years old. Really busted my balls you know?" Mizore paused, sitting at the table. Reading over the contract. Kill Kain. Eat Personality fries and Power Burger. Fuck bitches. "Right, fine. I agree to the contract and all. Do I sign it?" "Yeah, you sign it, just down the bottom." Mizore paused, noticing no line for a signature, the only thing that was there were two small circles. About the size of one's thumbprint. Oh, of course. A thumb print. He ran his thumb along the edge of the glass table, a slice of red appearing. Wincing slightly at the pain, he pushed it down onto the paper, watching as Doug did the same. He had to wonder how valid this whole thing was, doing a deal with the devil. After all, Doug was using his blood, how was Mizore to know if that counted or not. Either way he had the Power Sandwich and Personality Fries. Which had to mean something. "So, do I just eat the food or what?" "Yeah, just eat the food. I'll be right here if you need me, binky boy."Mizore glanced down at the plate. The sandwich seemed to be two pieces of bread and some kind of sauce. He lifted the top piece of bread up, seeing the word 'power' drawn on with what seemed to be Tomato Relish. A little part of Mizore's mind could do nothing else, but think about how tacky this whole situation was. The idea that a demon had created all of this, this place, this scenario, just to get something it was probably gonna get anyway a little bit faster. That said, he had waited three years for this moment, it was understandable that he might get a little bit stir crazy. He reached around his neck, pulling the latch that held his neck brace. It folded outwards, allowing for Mizore to take it off. He placed it silently on the table top, noting the 'chink' it made. He slowly reached out, pulling the sandwich from its plate, watching as Doug watched him. You, me and the sandwich. He was going to have to buy the rights for that name. He slowly pushed it into his mouth, managing to get the whole thing in a single mouthful, due to one side of his face having a very elongated mouth. The joys of having third degree whale burns. He slowly chewed, waiting for the horrible taste to come, that never seemed to reach him. No. In all regards it seemed to be a totally normal sandwich, which only made him worry more. "Where are we Doug?" "There's a little place, a place called space. It's a pretty little place." "Was that Patti Smith?" "Look, I don't know. You gonna eat the chops or not? Mizore waved a hand, pushing a chip into his mouth. In contrast to the sandwich, this actually tasted quite nice, a bit salty but nice all the same. Even as he swallowed, his could feel a little part of him coming back to life, returning to what it once was. "Do you like them?" Mizore nodded, pushing a few more into his mouth, leaving only two on the plate. Yes, he was definitely coming back now. All reason was returning, and that reason was telling him to punch this whale motherfucker in the nose. "They're a bit salty, but otherwise fine. He mused, putting the other two chips in his mouth. "Oh, salty. It would make sense, I did season them with my balls you know." Salty chips. Whale balls. Salt. Mizore bent over, hurling the chips back up onto the plate. The deep yellow color, with movement inside it. The shape of giant ticks and lice. Lice from a certain whales balls. "Why are there fucking ticks in my head? Why the fuck would you even do this?" He pushed himself away from the table, walking away from Doug, walking away from the failed remains of the meal he never wanted to see again. "Uh-huh. Wait right there boy. We had ourselves a deal. You don't eat the food, and you don't get no revenge on a certain persons." Mizore's movement froze, halfway through his next step. "I don't need your help, I can do it on my own." The sentence seemed weak, even to him. He knew it was a lie as much as Doug did. His brother had abilities that outshined most, three years ago. But now. Now he had been able to only hear rumors. And even then, those rumors scared him to the bottom of his soul. Control over water in an area made completely of it. It would be equal to Mizore having control of earth in Iwagakure. Which wasn't actually a bad idea. No, his brother also had Sage mode. One of the biggest differences between the two of them. One had power that came in a happy carefree way, being something he was born to have. Naturally better. The other worked for it, and couldn't go one hour without wishing he was dead because of it. As much as he hated it, Mizore needed Doug as much as he needed the air that he breathed, or the water that he drunk. He turned, sitting back down at the table. Pushing the pile of sick, ticks and all into his mouth, trying it let it avoid his tongue as much as possible. This however, seemed to be unavoidable. Swallowing, he felt the familiar warmth coming to his body. As if his heart had suddenly began to work once more. It was a nifty little feeling. But still, it felt different. An example would be, if his body was used to being filled with water, and was suddenly filled with oil. Ninety-five percent complete. "Where's the last chip whale?"Doug raised a single finger to his head, pointing to his skull, a goofy smile on his face. "It's in my cranium!"More Smith? He mused, firing his hand into Dougs skull, feeling the chip and pulling it out, watching his body tumble loose. A way of describing it would be as if one had pulled all the mass from his body, leaving only his skin and clothing to fall to the ground. Of course, Mizore hadn't pulled out all of his mass, he had simply pulled out a single chip. Not that it mattered. At this moment, he didn't care for the whale, he had his vendetta, and he was going to follow it. He idley ate the chip, wondering how he was going to get off of this red planet. He glanced upwards towards the shape that he could only imagine was earth as he swallowed. The instant the chip hit his gut, his body was fired forwards. Through the dust of mars, between chunks of space rock, below the remains of the meterorite that put everything into motion, skiming above the moon. All felt within a second, if he had blinked he would of missed it. Dropping from the sky, he hit the ground. Lying a few meters from where he left from, just by the rotting hut he had lived in. He lay there, face resting against the earth, his mask missing, for all he knew it was still waiting for him up on that red planet, just with the photo. The photo that he suddenly regretted leaving. He smacked the ground, tears forming in his eyes. He had fucked up, he had fucked up so bad. He just wanted to be new. He wanted to be new so badly. He wanted to be a baby and have another go, he wanted to start fresh. Oh god. Oh god why couldn't he be new. The past seemed to be something that he had always left behind him, now it had grown in mass and was prepared to swallow him whole. Regret was one his tail, and it didn't seem to be something he could shake with his usual approach of not looking at it and hoping it went away with time. That would have no effect here, or at least it shouldn't have an effect here. His tears formed in the dust of the ground, turning the light sprinkling dark. No more time to worry about why things weren't going his way. Now was the time for action. Iwagakure was lost to him, at least for the immediate moment it was. Too much luggage. Hopefully they would do the logical thing and give the position back to the Nadiame Tsuchikage. God knows everyone else in that village was too fucking idiotic to do the job. At least Kiyoshi had the skill of knowing when to shut the hell up. Not that it mattered too much. In all likely hood. Mizore was going to die in Kirigakure. Something that he simply had to accept. In all probability, the best he could hope for would be taking his brother with him. Something that would likely happen if Doug was released onto Kirigakure for the second time. Gosh, the second coming of Doug. He would probably like the ring of that one. Yes. If Mizore couldn't finish the job, he had no doubt in his mind that Doug would be able to. He had to wonder though, if he wanted his brother dead with such an intensity, why worry about the photo he had left on the dead planet. Survivors guilt possibly? It was an idiotic concept, but he had to admit it was a possibility he had to agree to. Somewhere deep down, he knew he cared for his brother, and that idiotic fighting wasn't the way to go. But, logic had never been Mizore's strong point. Even if he did have the nasty habit of questioning everyone else's. He pushed himself upwards, away from the damp earth. The blood was still running from his hand, he pushed two fingers upwards, before tapping the earth. A series of seals spread out, as a cat appeared. "Go, uhh, go get that spare mask from under the bed in the main room. He mumbled, stretching out his back, watching as the small furry animal dived into the house, excited by the possibility of finding a new job to do. Cats were so damn ugly. As Mizore attached the returned mask, he looked up towards the stars. Time to stop running away from the past, after all, we're all living in the past of tomorrow. His body raised into the air, as he flew towards his old home, towards Kirigakure. Leaving a dazed cat to meow at the space his master once was. [/blockquote] CLASS/LEVEL:E-2 STATS:HAN: 21 REI: 18 HAK: 21 {+2} SEI: 12 {+3} BUK: 5 {+1}{+4} HOH: 21 {+2} Points Earned: 0 Total points: 98 [/div] Things which are alike, in nature, grow to look alike. CBOX/OOC NAME: Pooch OTHER CHARACTERS:None [/td][/tr] [/td][/tr][/table] made by MOCKINGBIRD of BTN[/center]
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