Post by stephpig2 on Jan 21, 2010 10:45:32 GMT -6
Human Form.
.OOC Information.
OOC name -- Kink!
Activity Level -- New 8o But go with moderate
Current Characters-- N/A
How you found Wasted Skies-- Seirennnn 8)
.Character Information.
Full Name -- Djaka Angelos
Nickname -- None; Djaka doesn't shorten very well
Gender -- Male
Age -- Twenty one
Job -- Rogue assassin; going for the best price
Likes --
Dislikes --
.Character Appearance.
Eye Color -- Grey blue
Height -- Six foot precisely
Weight -- 10st 8
Overall Appearance -- Djaka is the tall, skinny type. He's lean like a cat really, but don't let him hear you say that. Most of his muscles are around his chest and legs, but overall he's not too shabby, with a flat stomach and clean cut chest. His facial features are bold; his jaw line is sharp and defined, and his eyes, (calm for the most part), are a piercing blue grey. You'll never see his bare back or arms, littered with scars as they are. (And if you ever see, don't ask - he's very sensitive about it.) His hair is probably his most defining feature - grey-white, plain, long around the face and shorter at the back. Djaka most frequently wears plan black or white tshirts, shin-high leather boots, but the thing he's never without, is that long, black leather coat. Oh - and the revolver. That too.
.Personal Character Information.
Personality --
It's not that he doesn't like people. Really, it isn't! People just don't like him.
Not convinced you? Didn't think so. Okay, lets set this straight. Djaka has nothing against people. He just doesn't feel much of an allegiance to them. It's easy to get betrayed by people you think you like, and he's pretty fed up with that kind of stuff. He'd go as far to say he's done with it. Totally done with it.
Djaka sells himself - not on street corners, though. He sells himself and his gun to people who need other people taken out of their lives. He enjoys that kind of thing. Creeping through shadows, using fake names, kicking ass and then sneaking off into the night again like some sort of badass vampire: it's cool. He works for money instead of for allegiance, and that's easier. It means he can kill people if they don't pay him, too, instead of being torn because he likes them.
Mostly he's calm and quiet. Djaka isn't often a man of many words. He doesn't ever feel like there's much he can't communicate without a gun - or maybe just a couple of words instead of lots. We have to make this very clear, you see. Djaka doesn't go running around shooting the faces off everyone he sees. He'll talk sometimes. It's just, if you irritate him (which you might), you'll find yourself staring down the barrel very quickly.
He travels with his grey wolf, whose name nobody has heard yet and whose name nobody probably ever will hear. Just don't touch the wolf. Ever. If it doesn't bite your hand off, Djaka will.
Djaka doesn't think that he needs to rely on anyone but himself. Human emotions are quite foriegn to him, and he does not feel much for friendliness or compassion. He can fake it but he can't feel it. He's not even interested in sex - surprised? He simply doesn't find any desire to be close to someone, in any way at all. He hates to be touched, and he certainly hates to show any parts of his body that would normally be hidden under clothes. He's a personal person, you see. He doesn't let people in.
History --
There's not a lot to say. Djaka never had a close relationship with his parents. His mother left for a better man, and Djaka has never resented her for that. If he'd had the choice, he'd have left for a better man too. His father was drunk and unkind, and left many marks on Djaka, emotional and physical.
When he couldn't take any more of it, Djaka shot his father in the back of the head three times, and left.
Killing turned out to be very easy for Djaka. He tried to do it very little at first, but he was good at it, so it kept coming back for him. It wasn't long before he'd started to be what he'd had to be ever since then: an assassin. He did well for himself, keeping his real name out of the limelight and killing for cash, all paid upfront in notes. Banks just didn't work for him.
Eventually, the SEG got hold of him and wired his skills towards more... useful goals. It was like being hired for one ideal, working on and on towards that one goal. To eliminate shapeshifters, to wipe their existance from the face of the planet, to create a world where humans held the reigns. And he had to admit, he grew to like that particular idea. His species should always have been dominant.
It was there he met the beginning of the end: Erin.
They worked as a team. Unstoppable, unbeatable, untouchable. But within a year, Djaka was gone, presumed dead, and Erin never told a soul that she was the one responsible.
Djaka didn't go down so easy, though. He survived (though not without more scars to show for it), and travelled in secret, falling back on his skills as an assassin for money. The wolf companion joined him around this time, protecting him, earning him even more of a reputation in the underworld. You probably know his name - but everyone would know a different one, so how would you even know it was him?
.RP Example.
It was light, but it was a touch, and it reminded her of just where she stood in relation to reality. So, there was still some power of feeling in her yet, was there? She could still recognise his hand even when it wasn't on her skin but instead on the fabric that decorated it. She was still perceptive, if just less than usual, and it seemed to reassure her somewhat as she stood a little taller - regained some manner of her usual posture. It showed, with some measure of clarity, that Marise was in there somewhere, wrapped in this strenge skeleton. Though it seemed less... effortless than it had before.
Her eyes travelled with him and she watched the wine as he poured it into the glass. Whatever sound it made was masked by Cash's voice as she spoke to her, but Marise tried to focus on them both, to prove to herself that she still could. She noted the way the colour became more prominent the more the glass was filled, and she noted too, how it swirled and grappled with itself, but she knew these were unimportant details. Things she didn't need to know. Things that would not distract her in the slightest.
Accepting the glass, with only a glance into his eyes in place of a thank you, Marise took a sip and treasured the taste upon her tongue, because it was real, and tangible. She swallowed slowly, and frowned into her glass. Unsettled - yes, that was certainly the word. Troubled was another accurate variation. She was glad that he had not chosen to say afraid, scared, or worried. That would have meant accepting once and for all that it really was far too readable to be allowed at all.
She laughed, a hollow sort of laugh, and shook her head even as the small smile remained upon her lips. "It's crazy," She said simply and softly. "It's crazy." And perhaps that wasn't the best adjective she could have come up with, but it seemed to be the most appropriate. She knew, before even beginning to say it, how strange it was going to sound. How crazy it was going to make her look. Strange things occured all the time in their world, but never this. This was not something that happened, even on an irregular basis. And it was certainly not something that ever happened to Marise Girard.
Another sip of the wine. She held it her mouth for a moment longer than was required, so that she could taste it again, and then swallowed. She turned her back on Cash and let her arm fall to her side, fingers gripping the rim of the wine glass gently but strongly enough to make sure it did not fall. She stared at nothing in particular. What she looked at did not matter, as long as he did not see her eyes when she said it.
"A dead man arrived at my house the other night. And I know he should have been dead," She said, her voice increasing with volume, to something more of a strong exlaimation, "Because I killed him myself."
.OOC Information.
OOC name -- Kink!
Activity Level -- New 8o But go with moderate
Current Characters-- N/A
How you found Wasted Skies-- Seirennnn 8)
.Character Information.
Full Name -- Djaka Angelos
Nickname -- None; Djaka doesn't shorten very well
Gender -- Male
Age -- Twenty one
Job -- Rogue assassin; going for the best price
Likes --
- Comfortable silences; those ones where you don't feel under any pressure to be talking
- The night sky; for relaxation purposes, of course
- Quick reloads; faster deaths
- Living for tomorrow; live like you might die today
- Acrobatic shooting; wait until you see him in action..
- Secrecy, lies, deception; a combination that means trouble
- Women; not little girls
- Control; of the self, of the temper, of the skill
- Risks; normality is ordinarily boring
- Intelligence; a little bit of brain can't go wrong
- His own company, and his own space; they go hand in hand
- Tinkering; boys will be boys, and boys like oil and metal
Dislikes --
- Framing; no, not pictures
- Missing the target; and this applies to anything
- Loud music; it'd only be cool if it played as a soundtrack to his life, but it doesn't, so it's not
- Coffee; if you can't wake yourself in the morning, you have no self control
- Bad insults; use your head guys
- Screaming arguments; you can say more with a look or a bullet
- Being touched; really, don't do it
- People patting the wolf; really, don't do it
- Living in the past; this is now
- Over emotional people; he just doesn't care
- Bad losers; if you accept he beat you, maybe you'll live
.Character Appearance.
Eye Color -- Grey blue
Height -- Six foot precisely
Weight -- 10st 8
Overall Appearance -- Djaka is the tall, skinny type. He's lean like a cat really, but don't let him hear you say that. Most of his muscles are around his chest and legs, but overall he's not too shabby, with a flat stomach and clean cut chest. His facial features are bold; his jaw line is sharp and defined, and his eyes, (calm for the most part), are a piercing blue grey. You'll never see his bare back or arms, littered with scars as they are. (And if you ever see, don't ask - he's very sensitive about it.) His hair is probably his most defining feature - grey-white, plain, long around the face and shorter at the back. Djaka most frequently wears plan black or white tshirts, shin-high leather boots, but the thing he's never without, is that long, black leather coat. Oh - and the revolver. That too.
.Personal Character Information.
Personality --
It's not that he doesn't like people. Really, it isn't! People just don't like him.
Not convinced you? Didn't think so. Okay, lets set this straight. Djaka has nothing against people. He just doesn't feel much of an allegiance to them. It's easy to get betrayed by people you think you like, and he's pretty fed up with that kind of stuff. He'd go as far to say he's done with it. Totally done with it.
Djaka sells himself - not on street corners, though. He sells himself and his gun to people who need other people taken out of their lives. He enjoys that kind of thing. Creeping through shadows, using fake names, kicking ass and then sneaking off into the night again like some sort of badass vampire: it's cool. He works for money instead of for allegiance, and that's easier. It means he can kill people if they don't pay him, too, instead of being torn because he likes them.
Mostly he's calm and quiet. Djaka isn't often a man of many words. He doesn't ever feel like there's much he can't communicate without a gun - or maybe just a couple of words instead of lots. We have to make this very clear, you see. Djaka doesn't go running around shooting the faces off everyone he sees. He'll talk sometimes. It's just, if you irritate him (which you might), you'll find yourself staring down the barrel very quickly.
He travels with his grey wolf, whose name nobody has heard yet and whose name nobody probably ever will hear. Just don't touch the wolf. Ever. If it doesn't bite your hand off, Djaka will.
Djaka doesn't think that he needs to rely on anyone but himself. Human emotions are quite foriegn to him, and he does not feel much for friendliness or compassion. He can fake it but he can't feel it. He's not even interested in sex - surprised? He simply doesn't find any desire to be close to someone, in any way at all. He hates to be touched, and he certainly hates to show any parts of his body that would normally be hidden under clothes. He's a personal person, you see. He doesn't let people in.
History --
There's not a lot to say. Djaka never had a close relationship with his parents. His mother left for a better man, and Djaka has never resented her for that. If he'd had the choice, he'd have left for a better man too. His father was drunk and unkind, and left many marks on Djaka, emotional and physical.
When he couldn't take any more of it, Djaka shot his father in the back of the head three times, and left.
Killing turned out to be very easy for Djaka. He tried to do it very little at first, but he was good at it, so it kept coming back for him. It wasn't long before he'd started to be what he'd had to be ever since then: an assassin. He did well for himself, keeping his real name out of the limelight and killing for cash, all paid upfront in notes. Banks just didn't work for him.
Eventually, the SEG got hold of him and wired his skills towards more... useful goals. It was like being hired for one ideal, working on and on towards that one goal. To eliminate shapeshifters, to wipe their existance from the face of the planet, to create a world where humans held the reigns. And he had to admit, he grew to like that particular idea. His species should always have been dominant.
It was there he met the beginning of the end: Erin.
They worked as a team. Unstoppable, unbeatable, untouchable. But within a year, Djaka was gone, presumed dead, and Erin never told a soul that she was the one responsible.
Djaka didn't go down so easy, though. He survived (though not without more scars to show for it), and travelled in secret, falling back on his skills as an assassin for money. The wolf companion joined him around this time, protecting him, earning him even more of a reputation in the underworld. You probably know his name - but everyone would know a different one, so how would you even know it was him?
.RP Example.
It was light, but it was a touch, and it reminded her of just where she stood in relation to reality. So, there was still some power of feeling in her yet, was there? She could still recognise his hand even when it wasn't on her skin but instead on the fabric that decorated it. She was still perceptive, if just less than usual, and it seemed to reassure her somewhat as she stood a little taller - regained some manner of her usual posture. It showed, with some measure of clarity, that Marise was in there somewhere, wrapped in this strenge skeleton. Though it seemed less... effortless than it had before.
Her eyes travelled with him and she watched the wine as he poured it into the glass. Whatever sound it made was masked by Cash's voice as she spoke to her, but Marise tried to focus on them both, to prove to herself that she still could. She noted the way the colour became more prominent the more the glass was filled, and she noted too, how it swirled and grappled with itself, but she knew these were unimportant details. Things she didn't need to know. Things that would not distract her in the slightest.
Accepting the glass, with only a glance into his eyes in place of a thank you, Marise took a sip and treasured the taste upon her tongue, because it was real, and tangible. She swallowed slowly, and frowned into her glass. Unsettled - yes, that was certainly the word. Troubled was another accurate variation. She was glad that he had not chosen to say afraid, scared, or worried. That would have meant accepting once and for all that it really was far too readable to be allowed at all.
She laughed, a hollow sort of laugh, and shook her head even as the small smile remained upon her lips. "It's crazy," She said simply and softly. "It's crazy." And perhaps that wasn't the best adjective she could have come up with, but it seemed to be the most appropriate. She knew, before even beginning to say it, how strange it was going to sound. How crazy it was going to make her look. Strange things occured all the time in their world, but never this. This was not something that happened, even on an irregular basis. And it was certainly not something that ever happened to Marise Girard.
Another sip of the wine. She held it her mouth for a moment longer than was required, so that she could taste it again, and then swallowed. She turned her back on Cash and let her arm fall to her side, fingers gripping the rim of the wine glass gently but strongly enough to make sure it did not fall. She stared at nothing in particular. What she looked at did not matter, as long as he did not see her eyes when she said it.
"A dead man arrived at my house the other night. And I know he should have been dead," She said, her voice increasing with volume, to something more of a strong exlaimation, "Because I killed him myself."