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Post by Raccoon the Illusionist on Aug 13, 2011 9:20:40 GMT
--  RYAKU HAKURAI--
NAME
Ryaku Hakurai.
NICKNAMES
'Rai.'
AGE
18.
GENDER
Male.
HOMETOWN
Oxgate City.
APPEARANCE
Ryaku's eyes are a deep sapphire blue hue that seems to reflect everything, replacing it with a slightly bluer version of itself. His skin is a very light tan shade that looks in need of a day at the beach. His hair is an extremely dark shade of blue; you can barely tell that he dyed his naturally black hair to make it look slightly bluer. It falls down to about his jawline, and is constantly falling in his face in messy strands. His teeth are pearly white (almost as if they should be constantly anime-sparkling), and almost perfectly straight; he has a very small overbite. His canines are slightly longer than the rest of his teeth, and if you peer closely, they look almost like miniscule fangs. His bottom canine teeth also have this quality. His eyebrows are black and rather thin. His ears are always half-hidden by his hair, but show no abnormalities.
Rai is fairly short for his age; he stands at a mere five feet eight inches (or one hundred seventy-three centimeters for all you metric system users). His weight also is a tiny bit lower than average; one hundred forty-five pounds (sixty-six kilograms). However, this is mostly due to the fact that he is quite fit, in both arm strength and leg strength. His torso looks quite stunning for those of you who are interested in that sort of thing. However, it isn't shown often, what with his clothing attire. He can often be seen wearing a blank dusky blue tee shirt, and usually, a white hooded jacket with large front pockets and little else over that. For his hands, he dons a pair of black gloves. He is usually seen with skinny, dark jeans with silver chains on the side, giving a heavy impression of rebellion. He also sports a pair of blank white running shoes. He wears these clothes every season except for summer, in which he loses the jacket and switches to fingerless black gloves.
PERSONALITY
Rai looks like he's a rebellious guy, and that he is. It has become instinctive to not conform to what everyone else is doing, and this includes succumbing to the sleaze that fills the outskirts of every city. Nobody tends to mess with him, and this is all right. If someone attempted to get to know him, they'd see him, first off, as silent. He never speaks unless spoken to; it's the one thing that he did learn from his parents and conformed to. And, as a cyclic effect, since no one talks to him, he doesn't talk, which is perhaps why no one talks to him, and so on. But, there is one exception to this rule. If someone pisses him off, he's going to say something (and probably something foul at that) before he beats the shit out of whoever decided that it would be a good idea to piss him off. Since he acts on such a rash decision, and with violence, it makes him short tempered. And, since lately, people have been pissing him off quite a bit, he usually sports a bandage or two on his hands, face, everywhere that he happened to get hit.
However, Rai does have a soft spot hidden behind his hard exterior (don't you dare say 'that's what she said', because I will personally murder you). He cares a lot about the people who care about him enough to befriend him. If you can get past his silence and his short temper, you'll have a true friend who will include you in the list of things nobody can mess with. But, no one's done this yet, so he still remains alone and silent. Another thing he cares about is Pokemon. He can often be seen beating up a few teenage punks only because they were hurting one, and he'd never hurt one himself. Some consider him a punk, but they wouldn't dare say it to his face. Unless, of course, they had a wish to be beaten up.
HISTORY
Born in the city of a thousand lights, Rai was always surrounded by technology, even as a young child. Everything just had to be the newest thing, and his parents encouraged him to enjoy the technologies of their city and bask in its glory. They were encouraging him because, he didn't really like technology all that much. He was the type who you'd think would grow up in a calmer town like Wetherseed or another one of the millions of tranquil areas. Even as young child, Rai thought that technology couldn't control everything in life, and his parents served as his example. They were always staring at their electronics, and when they weren't, they were either shoving them on poor little Rai or buying more. Rai grew up with this as his family; he was an only child; and he soon became very silent. Why talk when no one talks back?
As he got older, his parents cut the leash that kept them together, and like anyone who had been strangled by it for so many years, Rai took off just as soon as he was able. It was then that he met the slums of the city. Whores, drug dealers, druggies, even druggie drug dealers who were also whores. He found some part of him terrified by all this, but the rest of him kept cool and kept on walking. Right into an alley. They jumped him; three punks who were about as old as he was, and immediately started throwing punches. He fought back, or at least, tried to, and gave two of them bloody noses and the other a black eye. Just before they were going to knock him out, another appeared in the alley. He told them to stop, and gave poor, abused Rai a hard look, then at his buddies. "You got power, kid." He had said, and he forced him to join them.
Spending time with the thugs allowed him to train himself, strengthening his hand-to-hand combat skills by beating on the unlucky, and occasionally, beating on fellow thugs when a fight broke out between them. He wasn't happy about wrecking the weak just for the hell of it, and doing this for almost a year shortened his temper so that anything would earn you a kick to the face, a punch ot the stomach. His temper got so short that he beat up the thugs' leader, who kicked him out a day later (when the leader woke up from his semi-coma). Rai was on his own, now, and from the stories people had heard about him, avoided.
He walked straight towards the very edges of the city, where he knew a bus station was, and was silent the whole way. This feeling of solitude stayed with him half the way, until a little Pokemon, a Pichu, walked into a busy street. There was a huge semi barreling straight towards it, and unlike the many other little Pokemon that he had seen in these situations, the Pichu froze. Something inside Rai either snapped apart or snapped together, because he soon found his own feet barelling towards the Pichu, and then across the street with it in his hands. The poor electric-type was terrified, and Rai realized that he couldn't just leave it. So, for a couple days, he fed it, let it walk with him, regain its tiny strength, and then one day, set it free. From then on, whenever he saw a couple teenagers torturing poor, innocent, Pokemon, he gave them a piece of his mind and a hearty punch to the face.
After about a week of sleeping on the streets and eating the emergency remainder of his pack's food and water supply, he finally reached the bus station, paid out the last of his money, and told the driver that he was going to Featherwing, home of the Pokemon professor. He had learned a lot in his journey, and he wasn't going to forget it when he got his first Pokemon.
---
OUT OF CHARACTER
(You do not have to do this section if you have already had a character accepted.)
NAME
Raccoon the Illusionist is my user, but you can call me Coon or Coony.
HOW DID YOU FIND US?
Your advertisement on Angelus.
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE
Dusk had begun.
The sun was slowly sinking into the horizon, and was already halfway there. The dying rays of the bright orb seemed to claw at the sky, leaving reddish scars that dotted the sky, up until the bright blueness on the opposite horizon that still somehow clung to visibility. But, sooner or later, it would all darken and meld into a dusky blue, and soon, the stars would arise, twinkling like crystals. But, for now, the sun gave its true beauty, and the black cat who seemed to be a simple silhouette in front of all this bright, intricate perfection was enjoying it.
Not because of the variety of colors she knew couldn't be seen by any eye, cat or otherwise. Not because of the brightness that seemed to be empowering her. No. She was enjoying it because she knew that her favorite time of the day was coming, and that this priceless wonder was proving it. Twilight. When the dark blue of the night turned to a shade that could only be described as deep black, and the moon was the only light source, turning everything grey. Oh, how she loved the night. And before it, she got a nice light show. Two for the price of one, as the Twolegs would say.
But, with the glorious monochrome allure of twilight, there also came the risks. Nocturnal predators (not unlike the black cat). Natural accidents caused by limited sight. And, perhaps the worst, or the most annoying, were the night patrols. Cats who reeked of mingled scents. Cats who were brute, moronic, and hungry for a fight. Cats who would be willing to keep a secret, if that secret hid their inner bloodlust. For, the moon seemed to have that effect on most, or at least, the black she-cat.
She felt as if the darkness itself was causing her to act this way. Did she care? Not really, but it still caused her to ponder the inevitable question; why? What was it about the silver setting that caused her tongue to hunger for the strange taste of blood? And what was it about the black cat that held it back?
But, the night was not twilit quite yet. The wheat that surrounded her still retained its golden hue. The sky still shone bright red, and the black cat realized that there was nothing to see anymore. No more thoughts ran rampant through her mind, no more questions nagged it. She was done here. She turned on her paws, and her piercing green eyes opened again, having closed at her thought pondering. She was not going home, however. Home was a place of safety, and what being can escape the urge to disown all prospects of safety when the urge presents itself? If there was a being who could, the black cat didn't want to meet it.
Her pitch black paws kept going forward in a rhythmic fashion. The gentle rustle of the wheat against her fur. The faraway caw of a crow. It was all like a song that you could only hear from one perspective. The black cat smiled, pleased at the song she knew only she could hear. If she knew a real song, one with words and everything, she'd sing it. Sure, it wouldn't sound that great; after all, she had had no practice whatsoever; but it was still an interesting prospect. A cat, singing. Not yowling, not screeching. Singing. The black cat snickered as a funny image of a cat tweeting like a bird popped into her head. She almost laughed in her full voice, forgetting where she was, just for a moment.
She was deep in enemy territory now, and one false sound could be her last. And yet, black paws still rhythmically hit the earth, wheat still quietly swished by her fur, and the crow, who was becoming slightly annoying, cawed again. Danger was everywhere, and even that didn't stop her. Her smile, which had dropped after her snicker, appeared again as a smaller version of itself. Danger, associated with fear, associated with energy, associated with adrenaline. She listed off mentally, adding up her jumbled thoughts into an understandable sentence. Adrenaline, associated with thrill, associated with...danger again.
A tiny sigh escaped her maw, turning into a thin, almost invisible puff in the cooling air. Another infinite loop. Her thoughts seemed to be turning into these quite a lot lately. She was about to let out another sigh when suddenly, she found the rhythm of her paws and the wheat cease. She had paused, but where? Her head tilted upwards, her green eyes narrowed.
A tree. Specifically, a sycamore. Dappled by shadows and light together, it looked like a masterpiece. But there was something else strange about it, too. Her eyes flitted around the area, scanning. Nope. She mentally confirmed. No other trees here. So what caused this one to grow here? And so tall, too...it must be healthy. She stared up at it in half amusement, half wonder. The bark looked strange, as all sycamore bark did. Mottled, broken off in large, irregular chunks. And the color; with all the shadows, it looked to be a dusky green.
She put a black paw on it, and unsheathed her claws, sinking them into the rough bark. It wasn't smooth, what with all the odd breakage, and as she removed her claws, it tore off a small section, which she shook off. But there was something else about it. It felt...spiritual. Not in any specific way, but she didn't want to touch it; it felt sacred. Of course, as this thought popped up in her head, a thousand more appeared in defiance. She was a rogue, after all. No 'Clan' to bind her, and no ghost stories that she'd be forced to believe in. She was free from all that, thanks to her deadbeat father and her crazy mother. She sighed again, but bigger this time. Strange thoughts of danger and fright...
Oh, how I truly love the night.
Taken from my post on this site.
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