│ KURUMI, j i r o__.]

[Ayuki]

username, ayuki.

. P R O F I L E
basics, not hard to understand nor easy to recover


name, jiro kurumi.
male, male.
age, fifteen.
school, higashi high.
school clubs,■ track & field
■ art society
■ journalism
skill stats,
Stamina: 195 [↑ 100]
Strength: 191 [↑ 104]
Defense: 175 [↑ 85]
Speed: 202 [↑ 114]

Total Skill Points: 763 [↑ 403]

■ as a rider of skill, Jiro is rightfully categorized as an " all-rounder ", focusing on not only one stat but all. Fearsome in terms of high speed, stamina, strength, and defense, one may define him as a ' jack of all trades ', but unfortunately, is an ace to none. That is, compared to a person whom is a pure speed or strength-based rider, the blonde-topped teenager may fall behind second, only for the fact that time is initially spent distributing on all four of said categories. His style of riding, contrary to popular belief of a Bloody rider harboring aggressive techniques, is that of fluid motion -- graceful and timeless. Much more often that fighting fist-to-fist, Jiro is commonly seen performing stunts, or " tricks ", in other words, thus his battles with others may consume more time than expected of his above-average skills. If wanted, however, he may " hurry ", depending on his mood or rushing necessity of the obstacle.


status, s-class.
road, bloody road.■ current Fang King
■ has no tuner; single
■ raw power was all he had ever wanted in his youth - it was all he had ever desired; all he ever pursued. Sacrifices were a must, he was aware of it, and he honestly did not care — he willingly tossed-- no, tore, his wings, more like it, to achieve his current set of fangs, sharp and damn dangerous. As a reminder of his unforgettable ' contract with the devil ', Jiro had slashed his skin and is in present possession of a scar pinched upon his right wrist, rarely to be seen under any fashionable accessory he may mask it with. More than power, more than any reason — he chose the godforsaken path to stand alone; he transformed his status as such to excuse himself from society. Bloody as his road may get, Jiro is notably seen to remain blank -- rarely ever budging from the sight of drool-worthy blood — this trained demeanor is accompanied by his admirable maturity and stunning stubborn quality; thus is placed as an experienced and advanced follower.
air-treck information, not many people would ever have the chance to even steal a peek at Jiro's priceless air-trecks hidden in his school bag; that is, because many are not aware of his surprising status, they would never assume of such, plus the addition of him being recognized as an old school skater-boy. During the day, mostly, would he be seen possessing a skateboard or a pair of rollerblades, whilst during the nighttime would he be spotted wearing A-T's. As a mere hobby, the boy has a small enjoyment experimenting with parts — often tinkering here and there, there and here, with the mechanics. High quality may be paired with low quality parts, and so on forth. Because of this, his beloved " tools of flight " are of common failure, only lasting for so long before breaking into rubbles. Proof of his carelessness are presented on certain regions of his body -- elbows to knees, bruises, scabs, and bandages are not of uncommon sight. Generally, Jiro's A-T's are of a solid black scheme, plated with many belts lined horizontally and zippers lined vertically; metal chains had been added for style. The ridges of his air-trecks are plated with a dark color of gray, silver studs brightly gleaming off from it. If to be closely analyzed, his wheels are notably a worn-out white, marked with burn marks and random scribbles. Despite the intense training Jiro pressures upon his A-Ts, the high-quality additions rarely crumble (as stated, his weaker parts usually are at fault). These " basic " pair of air-trecks, out of other experiments, are mainly for air performances and grind smoothly against anything - it is adjusted to provide an extra ' boost ' of jump.


. V I S A G E
story behind everything, chapter behind details


http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y232/DNAnime/Tenshi%20No%20Tsubasa/____Ehh_nani_by_Lasaro2.jpg
[ art by Lasaro (http://lasaro.deviantart.com) ]
■ Leave × (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y232/DNAnime/Jiro_Final_by_alhodonai-1.jpg)
■ Smoosh × (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y232/DNAnime/Sora-Scans_jiromo3.jpg) × (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y232/DNAnime/Sora-Scans_img0003qm9.jpg) × (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y232/DNAnime/Sora-Scans_imgeo1.jpg)
■ Sachiko × (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y232/DNAnime/Sora-Scans_RPG-1153656.jpg) × (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y232/DNAnime/Sora-Scans_JiroxMikio_by_Deathscyth.jpg) × (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y232/DNAnime/Sora-Scans_Jiro-by-Sachiko.jpg)
■ Kasai × (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y232/DNAnime/Sora-Scans-RPG_jxm.jpg) × (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y232/DNAnime/Sora-Scans-RPG_fangs.jpg) × (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y232/DNAnime/Sora-Scans_jiro1.jpg) × (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y232/DNAnime/Sora-Scans_jiro2.jpg) × (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y232/DNAnime/Sora-Scans_jiro3.jpg)
■ Riyuuchi × (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y232/DNAnime/Sora-Scans_ForAyuki-1.jpg)
■ Etsuuko × (http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y42/kyorawksespy/jiroimvu.png)

eye color, glimmering emerald.
hair color, platinum blonde and jet black.
skin tone milky white.
height, five feet, five inches.
weight, one-hundred and eight pounds.
blood-type, ab.
overall appearance, with a harmless face, silenced by his unbudging frown, no one would ever expect for the lad to be a fanged, vicious creature of the Bloody Road, much less to be a King of it. Throughout the years, the youth had always been recognized for his uniquely shaded green capsules, even if he were to decide to go through a whole wardrobe change; and before he had decided to dye the top-half of his hair blonde, eye-catching to the maximum, Jiro was an individual whose face would be difficult to forget. [ on the process of writing . . . ]

Jiro's slender frame is not tall nor short for his age; for people like him of ordinary height, he stands nearly to five feet, five inches. His body, to say, isn't really capable of anything expected of others; that is, it is not expected to harbor steel abs or bulky biceps, which in fact is rather difficult to imagine on his feminine face -- but it is surprising to many whom had never expected him to be a storm-rider that he is able to perform backflips, one-handed cartwheels, and other neat stuff that is provided by his thin, flexible and compact body. It would be hard to picture him as a physically fit guy, especially when he is found dozing off on trees or on top of the school building, and not to mention hiding his frame underneath all those baggy clothes. This male has an average, lean built, needs a bit more meat, but still somewhat of the thin ordinary. His skin is a little paler than normal, and his threateningly (half) black hair doesn't really help his composition.

Jiro's hair would be the oddest and most unusual, yet surpasses as a "normal" color of his entire frame; his hair is naturally black, but he chose to dye his top-half of his hair blonde for some reason - a phase, maybe? Or rather, a signature look for him. His bangs curtain over his brows and is usually pushed to the side for necessary sight whilst the rest of his hair is layered and disheveled, an inch above his shoulders. Notably, one lock of hair is longer than the other from the side of his face. Like any female's hair, Jiro's hair is just as silky, yet unkempt during the mornings and afternoons - it should be noted that his hair closely feels like a cat's fur. Aside from his peculiar hair - small, very sharp "fangs" would be noticed whenever he would cheekily smile (that is, you'll only see his fangs and cheesy smile if you are able to befriend him). Down to his small hands, his fingers are slender and his nails are neat and long, also sharp; but he tends to bite them a lot. If you turn his hand to see his wrist, you'll notice that an inch-long scar is placed there by a knife to his own doing. To cover this up, Jiro would occasionally wear wrist bands, leather cuffs (most likely), or some accessories to avoid attention drawing to his wrist - which would make people tend to think "emo".

At first glance, you would notice Jiro as an awkward fellow if you haven't met his bizarre emerald eyes. Normally, the shape of his eyes are round and rather plump; take a look closer, and you'll notice his pupils are larger than normal, making his orbs gray or black (it's hard to notice the emerald in his eyes while he's like this). In the face of danger or the feeling of annoyance, Jiro's pupil's sharpen into slits, obviously showing the rich green color in his eyes; probably the most intimidating glare you'll ever see. Yet, it so happens that his unbreakable demeanor would be easily broken in the presence of close friends or perhaps an atmosphere of the scent of strawberries. His pupils slightly retract, showing the glistening emerald color of pure glee. Of course, it is his eyes that express most of his feelings; but isn't it also easy to read the emotions of other's eyes, too?

The teenager's taste in clothing are very much unique if compared to other "average" people. Many can see the boy wearing wearing 'gothic' or 'punk' type of clothing, he especially likes to wear hoodies with interesting designs and messenger bags with skulls on it. Jiro often drapes himself in dark colors, it would be rare for him to wear a bright color besides white or a bright red. He likes to wear anything somewhat baggy and comfortable to run in, especially when it comes to hoodies, jackets, and pants. It is common for him to add things to his outfits - like chains, chokers and necklaces, buttons, wrist bands, and studded belts (anything with skulls on it, basically, since he has a thing for unique-looking stuff). Never would he go out without any "style", he either must have a stylish sense draping his body, or he won't go out at all; it goes to say that although he does not care for clothes, he has a great sense of punkish fashion. Jiro is also seen with many different kinds of shoes and bags (he prefers messenger bags) with buttons and chains attached onto it, or a patch of a skull sewn on. During weekdays, Jiro is commonly seen wearing his school uniform, sometimes wearing it in an average or rebel manner, depending on the mood he is in. The shoes that Jiro likes to wear are often vans, otherwise known as the "skateboard"-type of shoes. He has many styles of those type of shoes, many that is decorated with chains, safety pins, and buttons pierced to it. Rarely has he ever worn a shoe that has laces or needs tying. On his vans, Jiro would write random words near the edges.

[Ayuki]

. I D E N T I T Y
connected and disconnected, the world continues to fade


likes,
■ reason
■ risk
■ speed
■ sleep
■ skull items
■ strawberries
■ sweets
■ heights
■ music
■ privacy

dislikes
■ annoyance
■ attention
■ optimists
■ ignorance
■ morning
■ rain and snow
■ strangers and stalkers
■ surprises
■ lecture
■ being controlled
■ strawberry-haters
■ anything mixed with strawberries

hobbies,
■ air-treck
■ drawing
■ rollerblade
■ skateboard
■ thinking
■ part-time jobs
■ resting on rooftops
■ eating strawberries

habits,
■ bite nails
■ play with hair
■ get lost
■ break things
■ trip
■ daydream
■ ditch class
■ tardiness

fear, " uselessness ".
goal, —
overall personality, Jiro's an outcast to most and is one of those rare people who actually enjoys the empty loneliness and the silence; if you ever thought that it was impossible for someone to like loneliness, then you're wrong. Anybody who comes across him often catch themselves wordless or find it difficult to bring up a conversation because of his almost intimidating, dazed eyes and rebel-ish atmosphere - these eyes almost always carry an expectant expression if the person or thing he is consulting with him, "worthy" to his time-constraining standards. His voice is dull and holds no feelings whatsoever, even when speaking to a crying baby or a person of higher standards; basically, he's just un-movable.

In and out of school, Jiro holds a sharp tongue and would hold grudges for years. He has the purest common sense and an intellectual mind; he holds pride and dignity in what he does. In occasional circumstances or at some point, Jiro would consider himself better than some of his peers. From his face, he would always look spaced-out and in thought. Because of his always-thinking state, he tends to be forgetful. Generally, he never cares what his peers would label him as; and to be simple - he's just a clueless "loner". Frankly, since he has no care or attention about his wandering appearance or reputation, you could constantly see him falling over his commonly untied shoelaces; in addition, stray cats would appear out of nowhere and... well, he'll trip over them for some reason ironically. The bi-haired boy is incredibly stubborn and pessimistic to an extent, he refuses to listen to things he does not find reason with - and will look for any benefit for himself when there is a chance. He does not partake in useless nonsense that would not give him any experience or skills that would be useful in the near future. A bit mature and dead-calm for his age, Jiro would make judgement on others based on mannerisms, social status, or occupation - with this, he is able to grab any information with his analyzation skills.

Jiro knows when to be polite and he knows when not to, which brings out his ill-mannered side (like, biting back at others, slamming doors, etc.). He prefers not to take into physical street-fights (even though he is unbelievably good at defending himself), thinking that it is pretty much immature and barbaric. Call him a "wimp", and he won't really do much. If you somehow manage to tick him off, he'll blow back and maybe knock some sense into you. To a few adults, Jiro becomes rather submissive and obedient, a good kid inside. On the contrary, if it comes to "Parts Wars", he'll show some interest in partaking in one. Yes, he may be flexible in A-Ts, but he's pretty "weak" when it comes to street-fights with no airtrecks involved. Although he may not look it, he rides the road of blood. Jiro's A-Ts carry the clues of stained blood.

The fifteen year-old has a few likes and dislikes. Usually, whatever he finds or experience is immediately labeled as "okay", which shows his 'bland' personality. Things in which he likes are kept carefully guarded and things in which he dislikes are immediately thrown out before it touches anything. When it comes to tastes of preference, Jiro tends to stay quiet and over-protective - he dislikes it when people are nosy into other's business and obviously dislikes too much attention (but it doesn't help because of his bi-colored hair). However, it is easy for him to immediately grow annoyed of anyone and anything. It's not unusual for many people finding him to be a heartless, cynical male. Nonetheless, if it is a promise to be kept, the blonde-topped minor will keep it till the end of eternity; and thus, his loyalty is bounded to no restraint, unless somehow, his reasoning beliefs overpower that of other's - again, promises are never empty for him.

Girls? Well, the poor boy never really gave a second thought or a double-take to stare at a girl for reasons that teenage boys do. If he does so happens to stare, it's probably because of something unrelated (an example of this is if you have a zit, something in your teeth, etc.). Occasionally, he may show some slight interest if a female happens to capture him in a conversation. Jiro's somewhat popular with guys and girls alike - mainly, he attracts people who have "problems", unfortunately. Who knows, maybe you could make him smile? Ha, well, the only things that could possibly ever make him smile are strawberries (has a crave for that all the time) and, of course, the harshness of training when it comes to A-T's (during this time, his personality would be catched a little off-guard, but most talkative and criticizing) .

During work hours, the lad is always told to show a smile to faithful customers, yet that is the problem - he CANNOT smile naturally -- it would most likely come out as an awkward frown due to his lack of motivation. Of course, as an employee and a waiter, Jiro is kind of polite; however, if it someone he has recognized, he wouldn't bother putting in an ounce of energy and wouldn't give a wink of customer service at it. Even if he didn't need the money, he works for discounts, man. DISCOUNTS are awesome, 'nough said. Across the lad's features is the common expression of being said - dazed. He may not seem to be the most alert guy around, but he certainly is the type of guy with a formidable reflex to support his passive gestures. Of course, considered to be a heartless guy, Jiro is certainly misunderstood, he has his reasons and beliefs, always circulating his actions by them. Ah, yes, ' misunderstood ' had always been the perfect word to describe him; and example of this would be, say - he pushes people away. Pushing people away immediately labels him as an anti-social freak, when in reality - he does this for his own benefit and their's -- he tries to avoid harming others.

Jiro has a few talents under his sleeves that would be rarely shown to the public. Minus his great flexibility and his knack of A-Ts, he has a good handle on a pencil - drawing whenever boredom appears over his head. Unlike his unkempt appearance, his room and territory is particularly organized, everything clean out of the cat's litter-box. A neat-freak? Nah, not at all. To him, airtrecks are powerful and neutral - tools that people use within their grasp. He has both positive and negative thoughts about stormriders, though, even if he is one himself. Other talents include cooking (mostly for himself and not others), and skate-boarding or roller-blading (besides A-Ts), he could do it old-school. He is pretty impressive on roller-blades and on skateboards because of his great cat-like flexibility and balance; you know what they say "a cat always lands on its feet". A pretty neat fact is that the boy is able to write with both hands.

[Ayuki]

. I N T E R I O R
into the illusions of a road leading to nowhere in particular


birthplace, osaka, japan.
birthdate, july seventeenth.
birthtime, thirteen minutes after midnight.
parents, —
siblings, —

overall history, born on the warm day of the seventeenth in July, Jiro's fate had already been planned beforehand; he was to be placed in an orphanage in hopes that maybe he would be welcomed by a caressing family. Days after his birth, he was then sent to the orphanage, carefully snuggled in the arms of his mystery mother. His parents, as one worker would have recalled, were dashing and had " molded " together perfectly arm-in-arm when they had reached the front of the orphanage with weary faces; their expression was sincere, and if they had the choice, they would have kept the baby -- but somehow, their personal circumstance did not allow it (and it will remain a secret); and though they carried striking differences from the other, a young man with strong sparkling emerald eyes and an angel for a woman with caramel-colored hair and bold golden eyes — they harmonized. No names were given, nothing. They even refused to enter the children-filled building. The lovely duo was careful when it came to leaking any sources of information about themselves; obviously, they had no need to be concerned about the boy's future. They didn't want to play a role in the boy's life; they felt as if their son had to have the right to live freely without the burden of their existence. It didn't take long before the sleeping baby was enlisted as ' parent-less '.

Bright-eyed and absolutely darling, the yet-to-be-named baby had captured the sympathy and hearts of many in the orphanage. He rarely cried and was frequently filled with reasonless giggles, but he slept a lot. Many of the volunteer workers had even -jokingly- remarked about wanting to adopt him, but alas! -- if only were they just a few years older and had the money to support - they would have, and gladly, kept him. At long last after only a week in the shelter, a seemingly perfect couple had entered to view the variety of kids whom ranged from the newborns to teenagers. One thing was for sure, however — the two neatly-suited people wanted a baby. The needy woman was in a desperate desire for a baby, and had tried multiple of times to be impregnanted by her exasperated husband, but her body never granted her wish. Her dream of having and raising a child was destroyed. She was incapable of giving birth. Before she was ready to have a mental breakdown, her beloved consulted her about adopting instead, but she was reluctant. The sobbing female wanted to give birth, she wanted to have a pot for a tummy, she wanted to be an actual mother; and most of all, she wanted to throw love and affection onto that imaginary child she had always dreamed of. After much persuading, she finally agreed, slightly bittered - they were going to adopt.

After visiting several adoption agencies throughout places surrounding Osaka, the couple began to face some personal frustration and pressure. They were never going to find their " perfect child ". That is -- until they had journeyed to the last orphanage in the list. Shaking their heads to children that did not catch their interest, their hearts started to wrench and twist. There was only ten more kids to look at before their adventure was to come to a dead end and none of them released that certain " spark " they had pathetically yearned for. Amidst the rampant midgets chortling and pouncing from place to place, the couple had heard a chime - no, a joyous giggle more like it - and followed the beguiling noise to a lone crib in the corner of the building where workers had frequented to look over the young life of which had brightened the area. And when the woman met the curious exotic shade of green, her face brightened. This was the one! Although much reluctance was met by the torn employees through the signing of the papers, the boy had finally found a home, and that was all that had mattered.

The day after the couple had settled their child into their two-story flat was the day that vibrant colors began to spread through the once dull household. The youth was adored by visiting peers and workers from his dear foster parents' workplace, and gifts had piled into mountains. Relatives whom had waited nearly centuries for the couple to possess a baby had journeyed from other cities simply to celebrate the excellent news. The months and few years after had been warm and consumed with sheer happiness. During that time, his mother was on a temporary leave from her job to take care of the young Jiro, her excuses would change from days to weeks, and eventually to months. Her accumulated absences had made the company she had served for years upset, and gradually, their great patience of waiting for the woman had evaporated. The hardworking father of the family had spent most time in work, trying to support the warmth that had been balanced so neatly, but it really wasn't enough. Threats to throw the woman off the job had been made clearly, and she immediately, though hesitantly, returned to her station, sometimes leaving the boy a night to himself without dinner or care.

Jiro, always loved and adored by adults, had smoothly aged not knowing that he was actually adopted. And though strangers and relatives alike had commented more than once that he did not look like his parents, whom had a plain appearance in contrast to his startlingly magnetic atmosphere, he had never given it a serious thought or consideration. As a carefree child, filled with smiles and grins, he hated to be burdened with things that had dared hold him back from adventuring out into the open air; he was a lively one, exuberating much potential to be well-liked among many. There had been times when his parents would speak of adoption during nights he was assumed to be asleep, but as easily distracted as he was, he paid no mind to it and was quick to bounce the suspicious word off his listening ears. When it came to the word "adoption" from his parents' mouth, Jiro had always assumed that the family was considering to take in a cat or something of resemblance. That is, his mother and himself had showed signs of having a favor for felines.

Of course, it was around this area of time, when he was the age of four, that the word " adoption " had become more frequent in both his mother and father's vocubulary. When his mother was forced to kneel down to save her job, his parents eventually began to experience the heavy pressure into raising a child they could no longer pay the time for. Nights without hugs and kisses dissipated into nothingness, and the faces he was used to seeing began to fade from his mind. The relationship of parent and child was destroyed by labor. Every so once in a while, either of his parents would arrive early into the household, drenched with exhaustion and bagged eyes, and when the youth would warmly call out to them, they would ignore him and jump into bed. They wouldn't look at him anymore. They wouldn't talk to him anymore. They were devastated to the extreme, knowing that they were doing nothing right in balancing work and family — which was one of the reasons why Jiro's saddened and expectant face was difficult to look at. But they found it easier to ignore the center of their concerns, they found it easier to do nothing.

When contact with the outside became infrequent, relatives and friends would dial in and speak with the overworked couple, requesting for a reunion. But they also wanted to see Jiro -- to see how much he had grown. Naturally, they agreed, but behind their friendly facade was slight resentment. Such an occasion had permitted the boy to be recognized, if not only for a little while. Days before such thing would have his frantic mother dragging him out of the house for new clothes, but that was it. His parents wanted to seem normal and perfect. And when Jiro would question his mother's behavior during rare outings, she would snap. Snap completely at him. She would hiss at him and boast about how hard the family was working to provide for the boy, for food, for the house, everything -- and she slapped him. It was the last time the lad had ever talked to his mom. He was scared of what was happening, but what he was scared of even more was the fact that the love that had once existed might be taken away from him. He still wanted his parents to love him. He still prayed for that, and still wanted it. He carried hope.

Although attention was definitely given less than before, it had taken a turn for practically zero, nada, zip. His father, tired of having to work up and fake way for the bombing of nosy acquaintances, automatically cut off all ties — the "ties" that had helped Jiro survive the days. Elementary school life was somewhat of a haven for him - a safe place where he had friends to keep him busy from what had gone at home. He tried hard to make himself seem normal because he knew that was what his parents would have wanted — to look perfect; and he did. Jiro had friends, and was the most friendliest student around. When mud-faced boys would point and escape from girls, shouting " cooties! ", the emerald-eyed youth would always be the normal one - the one acting like an angel. And when one person was to hit another, creating a scene, he would always be the one to patch things up. Teachers and other exhibiting parents alike had often prized him as an " ideal child " - but he had decent grades, nothing extraordinary to take account of.

Outside of school, where his building reputation of perfection had meant entirely nothing, the colors of warmth had crumbled into the gray. Dinner was infrequent and empty, the food of which his mother would bother to leave out on the table had became virtually nothing, and arriving into a house by himself with no scent of familiarity had became foreign. His life suddenly transformed to something he had to persevere through. Survival became him. The large hope he had in his parents clouded into a diminishing desire, and he realized he couldn't rely on such irresponsible beings to take care of him. He had to learn himself, and he had to quickly if he wanted to one day leave the hellhole. Jiro had traced chores to do around the neighborhood, earning small pocket change for future necessities and had started to rummage through the house's refridgerator for food. Despite many failures at attempting to prepare a dish, he had gradually learned how to not burn things; and to this present day, he's not a bad cook, much less an amateur pastry chef (in the art of strawberry desserts).

While Jiro had been busy shouldering through the basic necessities of the days, his parents had constantly worked overtime in their grueling office, and though they had earned good pay compared to the years before, just enough for one to abandon the job, they couldn't get out of it — they were sucked into the vortex of keeping their heads and hands busy. They wouldn't allow anything to hinder their progress, and they wanted more. A lot more than what their company was willing to provide. The duo was known to be extreme workaholics in the gossip of co-workers and cubicles, and even though the topic of their long-forgotten son would manage to pop on the surface of an escalating work pile, they shifted the subjects to something else. Just when suspicion arrived among their wondering peers about the possible negligence of the " disappearance " of the son, Tokyo had rang for the Kurumi family. Over in the much more busier city, two vacant job positions in the same branch of the company was asking for dedicated employees, which, ironically, happened to be the married workaholics. Knowing that Tokyo had happened to be a great opportunity, they hopped onto their feets and accepted the job proposal, and thus prepared to pack everything from their assigned cubicles and the recesses of the godforsaken house.

Boxes were nestled near the entrance of the house when Jiro had arrived from school one day, and curiosity plagued his mind. He excavated the hallways, the stairs, the living room, and found that most of the stuff that were supposed to be there, had been taken away. Before the questionable hours left of the day had ended, the lad had been dragged along the movement when a plane ticket was tossed at his clueless face from his emotionless father. Tokyo? He was flabbergasted, and it twisted his and hurt. He didn't want to leave! He didn't want to leave his friends nor his school nor the teachers! But he couldn't do anything, he was still " weak " and helpess. The flight to Tokyo had him gaze longingly at the stretched horizon of the city — he hadn't even been given the chance to say ' good-bye ' to his precious acquaintances.

Upon the near arrival of Tokyo, the boy was appalled by the suffocating, yet colorful crowds of which had strolled along the roads and streets without care of traffic. So many unique individuals, perhaps harboring a story of their own, no? Hm. It was different from Osaka, the city he was so familiar with, it was... much... much more OUT THERE, and it had exceeded his imagination of what he had thought of Tokyo to be. Though he didn't want to admit it, the alien atmosphere had fascinated him. This was an opportunity for him to turn over a new leaf. He had to. It was not long before the disconnected family had entered the depths of the new home, empty and clean. Some crates had managed to arrive inside the wooden-floored pad, neatly sprawled near the stairs unopened, and judging by the frowns on his parents' faces, he didn't belong here - not in the same room as them. Quickly, he scrambled off towards the stairs, where he assumed the rooms would be, and dashed to the bedroom in the furthest corner -- where it had been claimed as his sanctuary.

Days in Tokyo passed without warning, it was quick and fluid like a gentle river stream. His parents was adopted into the Tokyo branch of the company, and was put immediately into prolonged hours of work. Jiro, not yet having the chance to explore the house, had done so, gliding from room to room to map the area into his head. To his surprise, most of the furniture had already been placed, taking on a much more warm and " filled " appearance than it was when he had first seen the place. As he journeyed into the living room, he found an open box, clearly occupied with items that were meant for people his age and not his parent's. It had to be his stuff. Curiously, Jiro hunched over it, anticipating to find some ripped drawings or some broken toys, but instead, it was a pair of untouched machinery. Lifting it out of the beaten crate, his eyes widened — air-trecks? — from what he was able to remember, it was pretty much the rage all over the country, and his Osaka friends had often referred to it as the " latest fad ", whatever that meant. Never had he seen nor touched one; however, it was magical, and it appealed to him. Just the touch of it sent signals throughout his body, and he automatically shoved his feet into it - all reason not to lost against his childish enthrallment. After he had settled the " wings ", he felt a wave of freedom escalate into him, and somehow, just somehow, an instinct probably — he knew that it was his escape from the cage he so deeply hated. Nights of waiting and thinking inside a dreaded confinement soon transformed into nights of ectasy. The ten-year old felt and loved the adrenaline, but even more so -- he loved the feeling of weight and pain; it drove his dark thoughts away, like a candle suddenly lit in a damp cavern. Time over time, the young 'un abused his own body of abilities and tricks of which he could not handle and often blacked out from the tremendous amount of exhaustion; people recognized him to be some kid who ' slept ' out in the middle of the street.

The remaining years of elementary school was of little trouble — Jiro was a natural social butterfly no doubt, or at least, he had the effect of one and had attracted several students. He had distanced himself, though, not knowing what was wrong with him. Ever since he had been planted within the Tokyo society, things had been different, and " friends " took on a much, much smaller role; friends plainly did not faze him. Not even to this day. Yet it was incorrect to assume him to be anti-social. That is, in this last year of primary school, he had still managed to keep some of his humanity. He had a few friends -- surprisingly less than the amount in Osaka.

Realizing that he could no longer trust nor depend on his parents, Jiro decided to become " independent " when he registered in Higashi Junior High. At best, the youth was still a child at heart, constantly yearning for his parent's attention and affection. Parents had often smiled at their young when they had achieved good grades, hadn't they? He quietly witnessed such vibe on the first quarter of report cards. His grades were above average just like most of the class. Free time flipped into study time, books and papers became the central feature of Jiro's bedroom, commonly seen to be sprawled all over the floor. Assignments and tests were easy hundreds. By the time the second quarter was reached, Jiro had attained the highest record. Jealousy and envy of his peers, mostly boys, rose as they began to see him as a " genius-freak " who didn't belong in their class-- or rather, their grade. At that time, they deeply detested him for being a show-off; he had all the teacher's affectionate attention, and girls'. Rumors had taken flight, and soon, his entire class turned on him. Because of his outstanding grades, he was assertively pushed up to the next grade by his fiddling teacher whom had noticed the darkened atmosphere in the class -- she convinced the lad that nothing bad would come, and that the next grade was much more mature, but instead, the worst came of it — instead of being ignored, he was the frequent target of bullying. Confused and utterly dumbstrucken at why the students were acting like this, Jiro would sit alone in the corner of the classroom. His hard-working achievements did not last long when he soon noticed that his parents would never look at him as their child again. Jiro's grades withered from an unmoving " A+ " to a weakening " B ". Teachers, concerned for his sudden lack of determination, decided to consult his parents, but his parents were out of contact -- they had cut off their phone line and were always outside the house.

The twelve-year old male had strolled along the sidewalk, kicking the pavement to gain momentum in his skateboard, blending into the mix of bypassers. Ordinary day? Totally. However, as he traveled into his house, he paused near a trashbin inside the kitchen — now that was something he had never seen before: something inside the trashbin. Usually, due to the fact that there was practically no one living inside the houshold, the trashbins were empty of anything. Glancing around to make sure none of his parents were around, he scrummaged through the bin, only to retrieve what looked like adoption papers. His birthdate, his eye color, his hair color, and... even his name was stamped onto the documents. It soon became obvious that he was the one that was adopted.

Jiro had no purpose, and he felt even more lost and worthless than he already had. Despite the fact that there were very few people who wanted to befriend him, he refused completely and adopted an emotionless mask. He just didn't care anymore, and he was useless. He didn't belong anywhere. Not in Osaka. Not in Tokyo. His escape, air-trecks, didn't help his suffering reality, but it did help relieve him of his frustrations. As his absence in school grew, his skills in A-T's also did — he wanted to become stronger, to create an impenetrable barrier around himself. The only way to do that, he felt, was to follow his own path, his own road. Grabbing a pocket knife hidden inside his bathroom drawer, the adopted teen slid a knife down his delicate fleshy wrist, allowing for the fresh blood to drip along his skin. It was a promise, a reminder: " look at you, you aren't worthy of anything ", iwas what he would always say to himself every time he would uncover his self-inflicted scar. During the moments of haunting silence, Jiro would think about his past and his once high grades he had received -- the once envy of his peers led him to believe that he was better than them. Rather, it made him feel only slightly better to think that way. His trembling confidence soon melted once he had stepped foot in front of Higashi High — he regretted everything, fears of starting over had made him tremble and weakened his knees. If only . . .

Months into his new school year as a first-year student, Jiro's life had turned for the better when he had been chosen as one of the six participants to Fenrir's, the Fang King's, proposal in finding a successor or an assistant in them. Surprisingly, Jiro was chosen to be the successor of the Fang and was then onwards the prince of the Bloody Road; day by day, week by week, it was not unexpectant to see that this lad was surpassing the old Fang in skills. Knowing that it was his time of place to give up the position of Fang King, Fenrir had willingly surrendered his title to the younger rider. However, within those months of "awakening", the fifteen year-old had been tutoring a few low-ranked riders, and had also met some others with great potential into being Kings and Queens. It would not be long until his secret of his own King position would be revealed to the storm-riding world. That time, nonetheless, soon came - it was an event that may not be forgettable to the hosts to some certain meeting for Team Eden; there, Jiro's first public shine of awakening the regalia had howled... His position as King is still not yet well known, but it is spreading rapidly throughout some distinct parts of Tokyo where violence is loved.



. A D D I T I O N
stepping forward, one baby step at a time, a million more


facts,
■ ambidextrous, prefers left
■ frequently dyes and trims hair
■ depicted as the " grim reaper "
■ strawberry-obsessed
■ won several strawberry-related competitions
■ attacked a man in a strawberry costume
■ has high metabolism
■ kind of stupid . . . ' kind of '
■ can cook if necessary


workplaces, XLR8 & Heaven Café.
■ XLR8 is Jiro's first job he had earned and in which he takes time to partake in every Wednesdays' and Fridayss'. The shop sells anything that ranges from music devices, CDs, to punk and gothic clothing galore! Constantly, booming rock music pounds the stereo from all corners, bringing a bit of "life" in the black-shaded store. Once in a while, some drama would happen in the midst of the area, unsueing some stares here and there.
■ Heaven Café, Jiro's second job, is a rather quirky place; you can catch him working on Mondays' and Thursdays'. Although the manager will state that it isn't an "anime or manga" based restaurant, it definitely gives the feeling of so! Such as, waiters and waitresses, seemingly "bishoujos'" and "bishounens'" are gathered to serve people; heck, even the busboy is pretty darn handsome! Uniforms come in many styles to suit each employee's tastes and appearance; that is, there are "types" - the seductive, mysterious co-workers, the cute, klutzy kind, and even the anti-social types! Practically, it's like a host/hostess theme! Each waiter and waitress has at least one or two fans, or perhaps even a group to squeal after them; if you pay extra cash, the manager would allow for the worker to spend time with the customer for some hours or for a day depending on the amount. Of course, this is only if the employee is willing to. Ah, just to imagine the chaos, hm? Definitely a "heaven" for an avid anime and manga fan.

role-play sample,
The day, you may think it is just like another boring hour, but... it was "different", instead of your average sunny-day weather. Ah, who was he kidding? Of course it was the same kind of day over and over again, repeating like a broken-record that never died. Then again, wouldn't anyone like to think that each day had an exciting event? Jiro pulled a lock of his hair at a sudden itch that pounded him and deliberately released a deep sigh. And that thing that made things the same? Why, that's school. Every day, the same boring lectures, the same boring teachers, and no one to really come talk to - not that it was a problem, he didn't mind being by himself; it was just the thought of being perceived as a "mute" that tinged him. Dang, since when did he care about what others think? His round eyes snapped down to his desk, unaware of what he had actually been doing all this time, a picture of a cat's head was drawn onto the wooden table. Boredom was his best friend.

Slowly, he acquainted his attention at the chattering students alike; oh, boy, and would he like to add - same, boring students. The boy knew he had no right to judge them, but what else was there to do to kill time? He rested his pencil down, finally completing his cartoon-ish sketch of a cat. Cats - he didn't like 'em nor disliked 'em; the animal just popped into his head during that moment and his hand had already begun to advance forward. Jiro stiffened when his leg accidentally swung and kicked his messenger-bag that was sitting aside - his time-killer was in there. Yes, that was it. His A-Ts, otherwise known as "air-trecks". Air-trecks was a normal every-day conversation within the classroom, very few of the students were "stormriders" and even less were even "good" at it. It was funny and amusing to see them speak about how they finally perfected a simple "trick". To be surrounded by friends and to feel accomplished by perfecting "tricks", huh? How lucky. Sometimes, this teenage boy wanted to be there, talking about air-trecks with someone; he wanted to be a part of it all. His eyes relaxed in a dull manner once he leaned against his chair and turned his head out to the window. No... it's probably just a waste of time. he bitterly convinced himself, shutting himself out of any words of "riding" that may bring unwanted and useless thoughts.


themesong, " killing me (http://youtube.com/watch?v=bjlYvgri1Bs) " [ by Timely ].

[Ray]

:)