| WIP BLUE [a color] “Yes, the color, dumbass.” ________________ % Birthday: December 15 _______________ % Full Name: Blue Blue Other Name: December True Name: ?????? B??? Nickname: Blue Aliases: Marlais Taevas [Welsh, “Blue” | Estonian, “Sky, Heaven”] Viorel Aouli [Romanian, “Bluebell, Blue” | Hawaiian, “Expanse of Blue Sky on Clear Day”] Linnaeus Himmel [Botanist’s Name/Latin, “Lime Tree” | German, “Sky, Heaven”] (These aliases are simply names he's known to use when he feels unsafe giving out his identity.) % Age: 17 Sex: Male Sexuality: Extremely Bisexual % Blood Type: B- Species: Human (Deviant) % 〈 ♣ 〉 % Race: Caucasian Nationality: German [born into], Current: Unknown Appearance: Blue is not called “Blue” for nothing! The nickname-that-eventually-became-his-name was gleaned from what people usually said when they first laid eyes on him: “Blue,” they would utter, dumbstruck, eyes wide to take in the migraine-inducing sight. Everything about Blue is blue. From his wild hair; to his bushy, defined eyebrows; to his visible eye; to the bandages covering the upper left half of his face to his apparel--it’s all as his name suggests: blue. His “luxurious locks'', as he calls his untameable mop of hair, are very clearly dyed despite all his claims of it being entirely natural. Whatever dye he uses is likely expensive, and his ability in doing the dyeing is quite skillful, for his hair is a constant, uniform, eye-hurting sky-blue throughout, the colors barely varying between each strand. If one wishes to be more specific, its hex hue is somewhere between #53b7f5 and #57bcfa at the very top of his head, fading ever-so-slightly to the grayish #54b4f0 at the tip of each curl. How he maintains such a vibrant color is a mystery: he is careless with his hair, as easily discernible by the matted clumps and spikes protruding every-which-way, so why the dye is so loyal is beyond comprehension. So knotted, clumped, and tangled is his hair that if the boy ever practiced self-care and (painfully, of course) brushed his hair straight, the tips would probably extend to dangle directly above his shoulders. His hair is as thick and dense as his stubbornness makes him out to be; having consumed most of his head bandage long ago, it is moving on to either side of his head in its great quest for world dominance. Perhaps his hair becoming feral was done on purpose: it conceals the majority of the bandage he has wrapped around his head. The color of the kerlix fabric is, of course, blue, but much lighter in shade at around #fafdff--light enough that it would stick out like a sore thumb against his head. Most likely, he allowed his hair to grow so coarse and snarled to make the bandage difficult to spot. The bandage itself is much like a headband, but tilted sideways down to the left, plastered on his forehead and cresting over his left cheek, covering his left eye completely; the areas where it is on his scalp are completely enveloped by matted knots of hair. Thus, his unruly, untamable hair allows for the bandage to only be seen on his face. The fabric obscures his pretty face, shrouding the symmetry of high cheekbones and plump cheeks. A shame, really, why he chooses to destroy something that would have further hid everything that he is behind innocence. Anyhow, the question as to whether he is truly attempting to hide the bandage with his hair is unknown, however: after all, he does not conceal the area where the bandage is seen on the left side of his face despite having enough of a thick mop to make himself some bangs. Why he even has a bandage wrapped around his head concealing his left eye is unknown. The condition of the eye itself is also unknown. Is his eye injured in some way? If so, is he ashamed of whatever scarring it may bear? Is it a different color, spelling out possible heterochromia? Is he simply one-eyed, a weakness he does not wish for others to be aware of? The truth is, his left eye is perfectly fine, and he very much does not have heterochromia. He wears a head bandage simply to defy physics: a bandage, one of a length long enough for two loops, that has its ends attached to each other and not anywhere else for support--not even taped to his skin--would surely slip off one’s head, but Blue has found a way to keep it stuck there, perfectly still despite all the dramatic, sharp gestures he may make. He is not hiding the bandage with his hair; the tangled clumps may appear to conceal it, but they are, in truth merely there to be placed strategically in order for the kerlix to never fall off. Why he chooses to do so is, again, unknown, for having only one eye available for sight severely impacts his depth perception and overall vision. Nevertheless, he has found ways to cope with his purposeful one-eyedness--all for the aesthetic, he reminds himself… Among other reasons. The shade of his hair and the mystery behind the bandage is all people fixate on in regards to his intriguing existence. Yet another shame, he thinks, because not one person in this world can truly come to appreciate the beauty of his visible iris if they’re too focused on his other distractions. Engulfing his pupil is a ring of pure arctic-blue that, much like his hair, has barely any variation throughout--it is always the same color, at all times, regardless of the light. Consider him arrogant all you’d like, but he’s caught himself staring at that eye in the mirror for hours on end, admiring the way light reflects off the blue ellipse as he compares its color to the sky. Whenever he snaps out of his reverie, he will never fail to make the mirror spit into the sink. Nonetheless, his big, round eye complements his narrow chin and button nose perfectly, making him look even more naive and child-like. What he feels about that, however, is complicated: it’s nice to be so unassuming, but being taken seriously is a challenge when you’re not going around giving certain individuals free tickets to the afterlife. Ahem. As for his stature, he is as slim as a teenager can get, hence why he’s often confused for being a twelve-year-old. Meager in muscle and spindly of limbs, not only is he so nearly gaunt that one would think a famine befell him in his youth, but he is also, to his chagrin, short as hell. Small. It would be a mistake to tell him to stop complaining about how badly the genetic roulette did him; it is beyond infuriating to have to crane your neck up at children half a decade younger than you. He looks fragile, breakable--the second thing people conclude when they first lay eyes on him. He wishes he could forfeit their ankle rights. He did not want to be so small. It’s unfair, he thinks, that the world denies him this, too. Height: 5’1” Weight: 104 lbs. % Attire: When he was fifteen, he got into knitting. Or, rather, his sister got into knitting and forcefully dragged him into her hobby. With nothing else to do in his life, he decided to humor her, and, together, they learned to create simple items: scarves, woolen hats, gloves, and the like. When he was sixteen, she asked him to help her make a baby blue jacket. It was her greatest project, she said, and it was for him anyway, so he might as well help her complete it. Blue burned it on his seventeenth birthday. He was having yet another drunken temper tantrum, and he was sick of seeing the half-finished jacket lying around in his closet. It had felt good at the time--watching it turn to ashes. But twelve hours and a hangover later, he nearly threw himself off a cliff. He sought to apologize for his petty actions: by stealing his siblings’ clothes. He cut each of the twelve items of their clothes he had in his closet into their constituent pieces, and painstakingly stitched the patches of fabric together to form the ugliest jacket known to man. The jacket is, of course, primarily blue in color, since he chose only his siblings’ blue clothes. Its base #0BA0E6 and it is absolutely covered in patches of fabric colored between #D7E9FA and #031840. He started getting lazy at around the time when he needed to sew in sleeves, so he simply stitched #9FBBD1-colored jacket sleeves onto the patchwork anarchy he’d summoned from the gates of his personal hell. These sleeves are so long that they dangle past his fingers; he has to roll them up four times every thirty minutes to make his fingers useful. When he finished stitching the jacket together, he thought of adding a hood, but since he had lost what little motivation was left in finishing the thing, he simply sewed in a lining of fake fur that belonged to his fashionable sister to the jacket’s back, doing so in such a way that it dangles in a semi-circle behind him, thus providing the heinous thing a false-hood. And, finally, after seven months of painstaking work, the monstrous thing was complete. It is a terrifying hybrid between a varsity jacket and a patchwork quilt jacket, and the types of fabrics comprising it varied so greatly that it was beyond obvious the person who made the beast simply did not care how it would come out. It doesn’t even have a zipper or any way to close the sides. But what mattered at that time upon finishing it was that Blue technically stitched his very own jacket, and for that, he was proud of himself. The jacket is thin enough that he can wear it in summer--he need only reduce the number of his inside layers to a measly one when the weather grows too warm, or slip the jacket past his shoulders to allow for the circulation of air; if neither method works, however, then he might as well die of a heat stroke before he even entertains the idea of taking it off. The same logic applies to when winter decides to torment everyone with its bitter winds: he’ll wear only as many inside layers as the jacket can handle before it bursts at the seams; if it isn’t enough to keep him warm, then it looks like he’ll just die of hypothermia. Of course, he wouldn’t just let the jacket exist as merely something to wear: he stitched in inside pockets. Many inside pockets. A lot of inside pockets. He had to make the monster useful, after all. He has a total of twenty-four pockets, twelve on each side, all of varying sizes. He put effort into constructing these pockets: each one (excluding the following thirteen: six at the upper portion of each jacket side, making for twelve total; and, a strap that lined the inside of the bottom hem of the jacket, stitched at each edge of the jacket’s sides and the back, though one could say it isn’t really quite a pocket than it is some unusual belt-like design. The first twelve simply exist to house his pocket watches during situations where he can’t have them out in the open. The thirteenth is what the first four pocket watches he wears hang from in non-perilous environments, and also what the third buckle of his tactical leg strap is attached to) is designed to hold different, specific objects. Details are not necessary to know what he puts in these, but here’s a hint: it is either a bottle of a very certain type of liquid or something incredibly sharp. Exactly what these objects are is irrelevant--what matters is that both can kill, with the former killing slowly and the latter killing much, much more quickly. No need to worry as to whether or not the beastly jacket gets washed, though: he makes sure it’s clean every day. He’s not so obsessed with it that he’ll never take it off. The thing is so heavy sometimes that he has no other choice but to let his shoulders and back get some wonderful relief. As for the rest of his apparel, he wears one of two pairs of gloves knitted by himself. They are (of course) primarily blue (the colors are around #24618A), are made with his siblings’ clothes (again), and are, like his jacket, similar to patchwork quilt in terms of the details. He is never seen without these gloves. Regarding his lower wear, he wears either the shortest shorts known to the cosmos (while still wearing the eyesore of a jacket, no less. Perhaps it’s to irritate people enough to entice them into staring at his rather shapely thighs) or baggy pants that he has to roll up constantly to make sure the fabric doesn't get dragged on filthy floors. These lower wear are, again, his siblings’, and are also colored varying shades of blue. Lastly, his shoewear varies between ratty old sneakers and slip-ons to expensive oxfords and business shoes. There is no in-between. Sometimes, he doesn’t even wear shoes; he pads around, even in the most treacherous of terrains, wearing naught but thick woolen socks. But what he places upon his feet is irrelevant: what matters is that they’re blue. It’s easy to see that he likes blue. It’s the opposite of red, after all. Accessories: As if this boy can’t make himself look strange enough, he bears a total of eleven pocket watches on his person at all times: four are open-face pocket watches, three are half-hunters with windowed hinged covers, two are full hunters with hinged cover-over dials, and the last two are double half-hunters, all of which have chain-loop attachments. The first two of the four open-face pocket watches are made of silver-based metal alloys, in which the first contains tin and the other antimony, making them silver in color (#CDD1D1); the other two are copper alloys, and are thus of copper color, whereupon the first copper watch is so dark in hue that it’s all but hickory (#8F5606) despite containing more tin metal than copper, while the second has a significantly greater percentage of silver, though is not a pale copper as one would think but is instead a brilliant red (#BD4935) hue. Both of the latter two are gradually turning green with age. These pocket watches are attached via short respective copper and silver chains to the strap of thin fabric stitched into the inside of the bottom hem of his jacket. One copper pocket watch is partnered with a silver one on the left side of the jacket; on the right side, the second copper one is partnered with the last silver open-face, separated by an inch or two, much like the previous pair. These watches’ chains are tied tightly to the belt-like strap, preventing any chance of them falling off. They dangle about half an inch below the jacket, clinking together to produce light, bell-like sounds with every movement he makes. “They’re supports,” he calls these watches--whatever that means. “The open ones that you could go to any day.” The first half-hunter is colored a startlingly bright gold ( #E0AC3A), likely because the material it is made out of contains a high percentage of gold, and found on his right leg. It is tied to the bottom strap of a three-strap dark blue (#1F2929) tactical gun-holster leg strap via a golden chain, and slightly dangles off to the right side. The tactical strap appears to be built to hold some kind of weapon, but it is empty and is likely simply there for his headache-inducing style. For those curious enough to wonder, the third strap is attached to the same location as the open-face pocket watches. But one digresses: the second half-hunter is made of copper-and-iron alloy and has become so tarnished it’s become green (#687535, #C28F44), and is attached to a flat, thin leather leg strap (#181533) tightly fastened around the crus of his left leg. It faces outward to the left, dangling the slightest inch underneath the strap via a rusted metal chain. Directly above the leather strap is yet another leg strap, this time pale blue (#ABBED9), but instead of having a buckle, the fabric is simply tightly tied around his crus. Attached to it via a silver chain is the last half-hunter, its metal composed of silver-and-copper alloy, thus giving it an extremely pale copper hue (#EDCF6D). “They’re my foundations. They’re everyone’s foundations,” Blue says sometimes--yet another cryptic set of words. Two small metal paper clips can be found attached to the flap of his jacket’s only breast pocket, located on the left side. Dangling from these clips are short, sturdy strings that are tied to the dials of two gold-based metal-alloy full hunter pocket watches of the same material, style, and shape. The engravings on the covers are the only thing that separates the two from each other. “The twins.” He does not explain. He never does. The final two pocket watches, both double half-hunters, are what he considers the most important: the first is made of a silver alloy containing a certain amount of lead, and the second, strangely, considering how alloys are created, is gold-based with a rather high percentage of lead. They hang from his neck as necklaces via rusted, thin metal chains. He… doesn’t like acknowledging their existence. “They’re… They’re the reasons why I keep going,” Blue says... rarely. What he means by that… Perhaps only the observant ones will know. On the covers of each pocket watch are engravings corresponding to the zodiac constellations. The location and size of these engravings depend on whether the covers of the pocket watches have windows or whether these covers exist at all. For the open-faced ones, these constellations are located at the back of the watch; the windowed have these engravings scaled as small as possible without making them difficult to discern, and are located at the upper-middle edge of the covers, above their windows. The engravings corresponding to the open-faced watches are Scorpio, Sagittarius, Gemini, and Taurus respectively. As for the next three, the constellations Aquarius, Libra, and Virgo respectively. Cancer and Leo correspond to the full-hunter pocket watches. Finally, the constellations of Aries and Pisces are carved into the last two--these engravings are favorites. One will already be able to conclude that these pocket watches are the only items on his person that aren’t blue. He continues wearing them anyway. Perhaps it’s to reduce the… blueness of him. To balance out his vibrant colors and make him appear less of an eyesore. Or perhaps it’s for another reason, one that can be easily deduced: they’re not his.
They’re his siblings’. In order of when they were mentioned in this monstrous wall of text, they belong to Nathan, Andrew, M, Amisala, Joshua, Twenty-Three, Tuakana, Minn, Finn, Emmy, and Fratineto. Why does he wear what is theirs? The answer is simple: they’re not around to stop him from stealing their shit, are they? 〈 ♦ 〉 Voice: His voice is high-pitched and shrill, raucous and grating, especially for someone his age, resembling that of an irritable thirteen- to fifteen-year-old’s, much to his endless consternation. It’s boyish, loud, and depicts his insufferable, unruly behavior nearly too perfectly. His laughter is worse: booming and high-pitched with every wheeze, one would worry of mirrors shattering with each cackle that comes from his seemingly prepubescent severely underdeveloped vocal cords. For someone so small, if he was less obnoxious perhaps he could claim the title of having a stentorian voice. But there are times--rare, rare times--where his voice loses its brash charm and descends into something honeyed and dark and unrestrained all at once. These times are dangerous: they’re the times where he has the most fun. Handwriting: Surprisingly neat, but the letters are so packed close together that the words are almost indecipherable. Left-Handed/Right-Handed: Left-Handed % 〈 ◊ 〉 % Personality: Many say that filters and limits are unknown to this boy. He will say and do as he pleases, wild and impetuous, reckless with his words and actions as he is with lives, uncaring and apathetic to his behavior being the epitome of problematic. His signature quote is the very definition of indifference: "I don't care.” To this, he adores tacking on, delivered with a smile so bright it blinds the sun, "I'm only human, aren't I? Humans have the gift of freedom. Humans have the freedom to not care." Perhaps he even relishes in being so infuriating. Letting his tongue work its ruthless wonders has always led to more fun. Pushing even the kindest of souls to their breaking points, twisting a person’s vulnerabilities to his will, goading detached faces to dance with fury, doing whatever is asked of him so long as he can savor the destruction wrought by the aftermath, chasing after even the slightest semblance of happiness he can find in a world that can offer him nothing--if they didn’t bring him entertainment, if they didn’t fill his heart with perverse glee, then he wouldn’t be bothered to waste his time and energy with them. Alas, his mind is uncongenial, especially toward the ways of the righteous, and Blue only wishes to be amused. "I'm bored," he says sometimes. "The last time I gave a flying fuck about anything was when I made my fingers bleed from digging eleven pits in the ground. There's nothing else for me here. I'd kill for a laugh, you know?" Not one soul knows the darkness that lies in his hardened heart. How could they assume his head to be all mercilessly scrambled if he smiles so often, so widely, so joyously? If his laughter can be heard throughout the day, so rambunctious and boisterous and loud it echoes into nearby rooms? If he looks so carefree, so innocently child-like and happy? If, if, if. If people made the mistake of spending more time with him, if people dared to ask him questions, if people risked their lives by taking his beloved alcohol from him even for just a moment, if, if, if they bothered to know him more, to dig past the indifferent and careless and rude and irritating porcelain mask he puts on to make people enraged, to make people lash out and snap, to make his blood roar in his ears and give him a reason to be alive-- But no one will ever know him. He will make sure of it. He will hide behind a facade of ignorant, naive obnoxiousness; will proudly claim the title of menace, nuisance, burden; will induce the most horrid of rage, steal the purest of joys to mold into something grotesque; will do what he must, even the most wicked of things, simply because he wants to, simply because he can, simply because he has to distance himself as far, far away as impossibly possible from the dead boy who once wore his face, the dead boy who, had he the gift of peering into the future, would have bid the world a final farewell a long, long time ago, the dead boy he sometimes wishes wasn’t dead just so he could kill him again and bury him next to eleven graves. No one will ever see sharp teeth lathered in venom. This boy is bitter. So, so very bitter. He just so happens to know how to lie. And he knows how to be good at it. He knows how to balance sweet falsehoods with brutal honesty, knows the vulnerability behind anger, knows that red looks perfect against every color known to the eye, knows how to be selfish, to savor, to be entertained and get away with it--the very definition, the epitome, of an anti-hero. Nay, a villain. But the villains always have more fun, don’t they? More Emotional or More Logical?: Somewhere in the middle. He is driven by his longing to be entertained, but the ways he attains this is by taking a step back, weighing the odds, and logically calculating which option will give him the most fun. Likes: - To drink. Liquids with rather high alcohol levels, to be exact. - Leisure, fun, glorious entertainment. - Talking about his siblings. A lot. - Cats. He really, really likes cats. Bees, too. He befriended a bee once… But that’s another story. - Making people very, very uncomfortable. - Headpats. No comment. - Lying. He lies like he breathes. He lies because it’s so much fun when people find out how easily they’ve been fooled. Dislikes: - Boredom. - People who deprive him of entertainment. - People in the way of his fun. - People who are unfazed by him. Their lack of fucks given no matter how many times he reruns the Ways to Piss Everyone Off algorithm makes him want to work harder to get them to snap. And he really doesn’t like working hard. - People taking his precious wine away with the argument that he’s underaged. Really, how dare they deprive a growing boy of sustenance? - People who treat their siblings like shit. An unusual pet peeve, yes, but one that must be listed nonetheless. - People who talk shit about his siblings. Honestly, how people even manage to do that when all the knowledge behind their measly gossip is only from him is beyond his comprehension. Regardless, the people he overheard expressing even the slightest bit of dislike towards any one of his siblings… He made them very, very sorry. If he overhears people disliking them and going around letting it be known to the world, he’ll make them very, very sorry. Call it an infringement upon free speech, he doesn’t care; if their opinions suck, he’ll let. them. know. it. - People forcing him to do something with his life. - Annoying people. See: all of the above. - The dark. Go ahead, laugh at him. - Being vulnerable. - Being alone. - Silence. % Hates: Poison. Or, more specifically, making poison. Needles. Fears: Needles. Poison. ...Feelings. % ⊂ ⊕ ⊃ % Weapon(s): His choice of weapon is always going to be the gun. More specifically, handguns. He has a semi-automatic single-stack striker-fired Glock he named “Sally,” and he treats it like it's his daughter. Sally is kept in a holster that can be found sewed as an inside pocket of his jacket. Technique: He used to have one, once upon a time. He knew of many, actually, and was even masterful enough to combine many techniques across the ages into a powerhouse of skillful efficiency, but recklessness got the better of him and he lost once-impeccable expertise. Now, if he does not get orders otherwise, Blue will simply run into battles and fire blindly until he hears bodies hit the ground. % ⊂ ⊕ ⊃ % Strengths: - He's good at getting information. Really, really good. The only problem with this is what he has to do after he gets what he wants to know. It's tough keeping his jacket impeccably blue when it's… stained, correct? - Violence is an art. Violence is fun. He likes to perfect fun kinds of art. For clarification, he’s really damn good at making people suffer. - Reading people is one of his favorite hobbies. And he is good at it. He has to be if he wants to get under everyone’s skin. - If you can’t already tell, he’s good at things that aren’t really good. That is, he does well in performing activities that don’t quite pertain to proper morality. This is both a strength and a weakness. It’s all about perspective. - Not allowing himself to be vulnerable has its perks. But walls eventually break down no matter how high or thick or what materials are used to build them. Yet another that is both a strength and a weakness. Perspective, perspective. - ...Poison. The word makes his gut clench with something he doesn’t want to put a name to, but it must be said: if you want a substance that will kill someone, he’ll give you a precious, precious thing that will kill someone before they hit the ground. - Blue is adept with long-distance weapons. His eye can be said to be keener than an eagle’s. However, because his depth perception is skewed due to only having one eye, the closer his target is, the more difficult it will be for him to hit it. Weaknesses: - This boy is as morally ambiguous as a person can be. - He is undoubtedly, unconditionally annoying. - He’s known to be lazy. He doesn’t really want to work all that much for his fun, you see. - He’s impulsive. Not as impulsive as some certain people can be, but he’s up there in the list of Most Impulsive People Known to Man™. - He has a strange philosophy regarding… death. It’s twisted, but what isn’t when it comes to him? He believes that death simply is as things are--always there, patient, inevitable. If it’ll come to everyone eventually, why not nudge it along? - Hmm. What else to put...? Ah, yes. Blue's level of self-awareness is, honestly, quite remarkable. One would think that this could be a strength, as it allows him to reflect on his actions and perhaps change him for the better, but Blue does not care for change that does not lead to some form of twisted amusement. His self-awareness is a problem that will be explored further at some point, hence why it is listed as a weakness. Blue is too broken to fix himself anyway. - Cats. Oh, are cats his greatest weakness. - Needles. If he could banish them off the face of the planet, he would. - He. Hates. Making. Poison. It isn’t as bloody as other means of termination, so why should he partake in its creation? - His depth perception is all screwed up. This becomes obvious when he’s doing close-range combat. He can completely miss a swing at a target directly in front of him. Embarrassing. This could easily be resolved by simply taking the bandage off his face, but… Damn, can he be a masochist sometimes. % ⌈ ⌋ % %Mental/Physical Disabilities: C-PTSD % ⌊ ⌉ % Affiliations: All fake if that's what you're asking. He'll make connections when he's given the promise of his brain finally producing happy chemicals. Significant Other(s): None. Loving someone only results in pain. Granted, he may like pain, but he doesn't want to be the one experiencing it. Love Interest: Taevion Aaron Holt Offspring: None. He may get drunk a lot, but, really, fuck child support. Kin: - January (Older Adoptive Brother), more commonly known as Joshua. He owns the gold half-hunter pocket watch. Struggled with finding a place in the family, and got stuck in a limbo between being an older sibling/parental figure and one of the “children in need of protecting.” A wonderful person, playful at times, good with his words and providing comfort. - February (Younger Adoptive Sister), or Fratineto, more commonly known by her nickname "Neto". She is the youngest in the family. She owns the gold-and-lead double half-hunter pocket watch. Psychotic, her, but sweet, kind. The most loved, aside from Emmy. - March (Younger Adoptive Brother), but everyone calls him Emmy. He owns the silver-and-lead double half-hunter pocket watch. A brilliant boy. Compassionate, empathetic, and kind, but only to the unproblematic. To him, problems need to be eliminated, and people cause problems, so those people should be eliminated. But everyone in the family loved him anyway. - April (Younger Adoptive Sister), known as Erokeria to some unfortunate souls, but Amisala to her family. She owns the red open-faced pocket watch. Had a strange view on life, believing that people are happiest when they’re dead. Too kind for her own good. - May (Older Adoptive Sister), or simply M. She owns the hickory open-faced pocket watch. She, Andy, and Nathan--never seen apart. Awkward, her. Too kind. Fun, sometimes. But her heart hardened at some point, and she, despite remaining a tad bit playful, grew apathetic. Still a wonderful listener, though. - June (Older Adoptive Brother; Twin Brother of July). He goes by Minn. He owns the gold-based full hunter pocket watch. Fun, all smiles and laughter, but a little psycho, him. - July (Older Adoptive Sister; Twin Sister of June). She goes by Finn. She owns the gold-based full hunter pocket watch. Cold and apathetic, more done with the world than Nathan ever could dream to be. - August (Older Adoptive Sister), called Tuakana by her family. The second-oldest in the family. Well, used to be. She owns the silver-and-copper half-hunter pocket watch. A no-nonsense young woman. Everyone loves her, but no one really liked her except for Twen, Nathan, and M. Everyone needed her to function. - September (Older Adoptive Brother), known as Twenty-Three, nicknamed “Twen.” He is the oldest in the family… for now. He owns the tarnished copper half-hunter pocket watch. More of a father figure than a big-brother-figure. Or a bother-figure, to be honest. Strict, but caring and kind. But Blue never thought to turn to him for anything; he thought it insulting that Twen was just so damn tall. Tall people suck, so Blue didn’t spend as much time with Twen as he did with Andy. - October (Younger Adoptive Brother), or Andy. He owns the antimony-based open-faced pocket watch. A gamer. His vocabulary all… nonsensical. “NPCs,” for unimportant individuals, “Protagonist-Wannabees,” for figureheads, “Chat,” when referring to groups, and so forth. So, so caring and open with everything. A listener. Funny, too, but not in an obnoxious way. Pleasant to be around. Kind. An all-around wonderful person. - November (Older Adoptive Brother), but he went by Nathan. He owns the tin-based open-faced pocket watch. Blue considers him to be the wisest in the cosmos. Kind, as you can see that everyone in his family was. Kindness was their greatest sin. Their status, you ask? Not here, that's for sure. They won’t ever show up, trust. But that doesn’t mean he’ll stop caring about them, that he’ll stop telling everyone--even those who don’t want to listen--about them. Yes, a shocker: he is capable of something pure, of something that isn’t apathy or insanity, of love--but it’s reserved for eleven and eleven only. ≡ History: Ah. This is something he keeps close to his chest. % ≡ % Miscellaneous Traits: - He speaks fluent German and English, accented Russian, a bit of Korean, and not-so-good Chinese and Japanese. He knows some Filipino, Hindi, Nigerian, Swedish, and Hebrew words and phrases. His siblings were of different nationalities, so it would only be respectful that he learned even just a little of their native languages. - He likes to fiddle with Emmy’s and Fratineto’s pocket watches. - He likes to fiddle with his hair, as well; he’s often found twirling a strand around his finger. - He doesn’t quite understand why people don’t want to die. - He might… end up confusing someone for one of his siblings. It’s happened before and it will more than likely happen again. - He uses German terms of endearments. - He takes a “horrible sense of humor,” to a whole new level. - Sometimes, to throw people off, he’ll say a disturbing sentence or two and then immediately move on. - He laughs at the most inopportune, inappropriate times just to see how people react. % 〈 ◊ 〉 %
Summary: He's a short boy, fair-skinned, and is often confused for being a child because of his youthful looks, height, and pitch of voice. He has blue hair, a visible blue eye, and dons an ugly blue too-big-on-him patchwork jacket that somehow suits him, along with blue shoes, blue lower wear that ranges between tight leather short-shorts to baggy cotton too-big-on-him pants, and knitted blue gloves. He wears a total of eleven pocket watches throughout his person, and also wears a makeshift bandage that acts as an eyepatch, covering his left eye. His handgun is kept fastened to one of his jacket’s inside pockets. He is unstable; mysterious; is twisted, perverse, and manipulative; and presents himself as incredibly obnoxious, seemingly having a lack of brain-to-mouth filters, thus making others believe him to be brutal with his honesty, but, in truth, he lies like telling the truth will kill him, and being incomprehensibly annoying is merely a facade. He seeks nothing else in this world but entertainment, and will not hesitate to turn to violence if it means he can satiate his longing for serotonin. % 〈〈 ♠ 〉〉 % Ability: He can heal others, but not himself. One could see it as an irony, considering who he is as a person, and Blue is well aware of that. He finds it hilarious, in fact, but that's beside the point. His blood has a certain kind of healing factor--when it makes contact with an injury, the injury will begin to heal. The amount of blood required to heal an injury depends on the severity of said injury: the more severe the injury, the more of his blood is needed. To put this into perspective, abrasions will need around half an ounce; lacerations will need between one ounce to three ounces, depending on the severity; puncture wounds are a tad bit difficult, considering how gunshot wounds can be treated as puncture wounds, so, again, the amount of blood required from him will depend on the severity, but this typically ranges from between eight ounces to a full damned cup; and, finally, avulsions are... the most complicated and dangerous, and, once more, depending on the severity, will require a liter, perhaps more, which is entering into dangerous territory because if he loses more than a liter of blood, he'll, well, die. In order for his ability to work, his blood needs to make contact with an injury. Obviously. This is either through direct contact (by literally pouring his blood over the wound) or by a blood transfusion. There's no need to worry about any repercussions when it comes to transfusing his blood into another individual whose blood type may not be compatible with his: his ability seems to bypass the whole array of rules that relate to blood types--hemolytic transfusion reactions do not seem to occur. His ability is not perfect, of course. There are several limitations. There are some injuries that are simply too severe for him to risk giving too much of his blood for, for one. If he's healing some guy with a gunshot wound and the bullet is still somewhere down there, his ability will not work; it will only work if it cannot detect a large foreign body. If he doesn't give enough blood, the wound will only heal to a certain point. If his blood is tainted enough (with alcohol, for example), his ability simply stops functioning and is rendered useless. He can't heal infections or disease. He can't do shit against acid or poison. He can't bring people back from the dead. What he'd give for the latter to be true. But, oh well. He can only heal wounds that bleed, even on a minuscule level. Bruises, scratches, stab wounds. That's as far as he can go. The repercussions he encounters makes using the ability nearly not worth it: migraines, severe fatigue, high fevers, and that's not even considering the repercussions behind giving away his blood. If he gives too much... Hemorrhagic shock, anyone? Perhaps, goddamn death. Kind of worthless when you look at it, isn't it? % |
Winter 
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Blizzard
