Post by Takeda Akiyama on Apr 13, 2015 3:17:09 GMT
Name: Takeda Akiyama
Age: 23
Date of Birth: November 8th
Birthplace: Kyoto, Japan
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual, despite vicious rumors concerning a dead city in Italy.
Face Claim: I've no idea who this artwork is of, or who it's by. Props to 'em though.
Appearance:
Height: 6'0
Distinguishing Features: Other than the fact that Takeda dyes his hair a rather obnoxious shade of red, he's got a piercing in his right ear. (Don't ask, friend-o.)
Class: Persona-User
Arcana: The Tower
Occupation: When most people think of their own personal hell, they typically don't think of working as a clerk at a knock-off manga shop as the daytime clerk. Most people. Takeda though...
Starting Equipment: The only real armament in Takeda's arsenal is perhaps the one that's actually illegal to have in Japan. A rash of burglaries had hit the neighborhood where the clerk lived, long before Seiji reared his head into the apartment. Not one to be caught off-guard, Takeda exploited a loophole in the law regarding the importation of gun parts, along with bullets, to obtain an old Beretta 92FS from the states. Having friends from traveling abroad always helps. Though his skill with it only extends towards reloading it, and popping shots off, due to the rather abysmal instruction tapes that came with the gun, he still keeps it around for reasons unknown. The old 9mm is usually stored in a spot that's hollowed out behind the medicine cabinet, and as one may expect, does piercing damage.
Personality: Takeda Akiyama comes across, to most people, as the very portrait of a disgruntled blue-collar employee. Day in, day out, he wears a patronizing smile for each and every one of his customers. From the the pimple laden tweens, who want their favorite shonen character in figurine form, to replace the neglect of their parents, to the the pimple laden adults, who want their favorite shonen character in figurine form to masturbate to. Disgusting. All of them disgust him. Takeda comes across as a very cynical, and sarcastic individual to those that enter the store, and those he doesn't know. The only few customers he treats well, are those that have been around long enough to not fit into what he considers the "archetype"...even then, the most he'll usually do for them is sneak them a free issue, or maybe buy an eight ounce for them. Manga-Max manages to bring out the worst in Takeda, as if the place literally devours his happiness...there was a time he'd never be caught dead in this place. Now he wishes he was dead in it...at least then they'd have to close it down.
As for friends? Takeda is an avid drinker, and it shows when one stumbles into the foul smelling den of self-loathing known as his apartment...his friends never see the interior of this place, no, no. More often than not, before his brother moved in, Takeda found himself hitting the bar scene almost every day, with a crowd of drunken winos that he loosely attached the term friend to. From clubs to bars, he was truly the very antithesis of a home-body, doing everything to avoid the miserable mess of his existence at that abominable place. To his friends, he's a foul mouthed, but somewhat fun man to be around. He'll drink them under the table, most of the time, laugh at a joke, but it all rings hollow, as if something just isn't there for him. Outside of bars, nightclubs, and little drinking parties at houses, he typically doesn't do much with his friends, coming across as somewhat distant to most.
The opinions of others, and those he keeps at arms length aside...Takeda is truly a sad man. He presents himself with a sarcastic, distant act to those he despises, and never goes beyond skin-deep when it comes to conversational topics with anyone he comes across. At few points does he let this slip, other than when he's drunk...then he shows his true colors. He does not cry, he does not mourn the loss of his dreams and ambitions, he merely exists, like an animal. When drunk, he's cold, irritable, but honest...much like he wishes he could be with the people he calls friends. But no...they're not truly friends. Just vessels for him to talk to, and act human. Once upon a time, he was jovial, creative, and it still shines through on occasion, but it is buried deep within the muck of self-loathing, bitterness, and despair. Seldom will he brood, and even more rarely will he bring himself to share his displeasure, but Takeda considers himself utterly, and completely defeated.
Should someone catch him on a good day, or should the planets align during a drunken stupor, he'll let slip some of the good qualities in him, his artistic side will shine through, hell, he may even tell of past loves and exploits, but it is very rare...and the cold, disconnected air with which he carries himself, is thick indeed.
Likes: Once you get to that level of discontent with your life, you tend to cling to the few things that still elicit some sort of semblance of joy out of your rather miserable existence. Alcohol helps. It really does. Especially when you have at least ten acne covered teens yelling at you about how great their animu is and how...just, skip the details on the waifu crap. Other than that, Takeda does seem to take genuine joy out of classical artwork that's more in tune with the renaissance style, nothing modern, or post modern, or any of those pretentious scribbles that some college kids adore. If we were to get technical about his likes, Takeda's also a fan of a wide array of music, other than the country stuff he caught an earful of during his time in the states.
Dislikes: Oh boy, now here's the list that's gonna have some actual meat to it's bones. To put it in one clear, concise package, Takeda hates anime and manga with a fierce passion to rival a viking berserker. This is on top of his hatred for the customers that peruse the store most of the time, although he hears that some folks in the states have it even worse than he does when it comes to the clientele. That, and to quote one of the greatest men to eve-nah, just a pikey: "D'ya like dags?" No. No he doesn't. Takeda tends to avoid animals for the most part.
History:
Born on a cold November evening, in a packed maternity ward in Kyoto, Takeda Akiyama was the son of a Japanese salaryman, and a mother he later claimed to be the biggest whore since Babylon. Much like his estranged half-brother, it didn't take too long for his father to split, yet for much different reasons, he suspects...naturally, he was forced to live with his mother. Finances were taken care of by his father, but...that didn't keep things from being rough. At an early age, Takeda knew very well that his mother was something of a local pariah. A drunken mess, she was looked upon as the local bicycle...and given enough time, Takeda grew to share that opinion. Man after man showed up, some wanting Takeda to call them his father, and others simply passing through, like so many blurs along the highway. The boy would frequently find himself in fights with neighboring children over taunts over his mother, and it didn't take long for him to grow to resent her. School was his solace, there, he excelled at his studies, even earning the equivalent of honor roll, back home. In school, there was ambition, outside of it, the quagmire that made up his broken home. In second grade, his mother threw a drunken tantrum and kicked him out of the house for a night...needless to say, he wasn't happy with how his childhood was going.
Time passed naturally, and things grew ever more distant between Takeda and his mother. By the time he had reached high school, it was as if he was living with a complete stranger, and the feeling was mutual. Takeda was doing well in school, and seemed to have a particular knack for the arts, whereas his mother sat at home, a drunken mess that could barely draw flies to her at that point. Friends passed, loved ones moved on or changed, and the only constant was a state of separation between the two. His father would occasionally whisk him away for a weekend, wherein Takeda was genuinely happy, and was indulged in a life somewhat less grey than that which he had been left with. His father had moved on, found a girlfriend, soon to be an ex...then another, then another...but Takeda admired the man. As he neared graduation, those aforementioned visits came less frequently, but the two seemed to get along just fine.
When the time came to leave his house, Takeda finally unloaded a lifetime of hatred onto his mother, slammed the door shut, and never looked back. Calls would come, he'd be begged for forgiveness, and he'd pay lip service. He was free. The young man's father paid for his college, and he had the time of his life. Drunken parties, lost loves, and his one true one...the arts. There was a certain beauty in bringing life to the canvas, in giving meaning, to where there was none. Depth, that was what he loved...a meaning. His grades were excellent, his passion burning, as he was congratulated on some of his paintings. Graduation was a sad time for him, for academics really did manage to make him happy. He left the school with a developed taste for alcohol, art, and a lust for life.
It didn't take long for things to die down after college. Seeking employment as an artist, he was approached by relatively unknown manga authors to do illustrations, and after just two sessions, found it not to his liking. The characters lacked substance, a human element. Quality was sacrificed for quantity, or occasionally the unnatural movements of some animated harlot's gigantic air-bags. After turning down other candidates, he sought to simply paint, and hopefully find himself a niche in the art scene. The result was completely underwhelming. In Japan, his art was viewed as the attempts of a misguided youth to ape Western culture, in the west, it was viewed as simply antiquated in comparison to more expressionist works. With time, Takeda found himself relying on the finances of his father to keep afloat, and try to make it big.
One day, the money stopped coming, the letters and correspondences simply stopped. Takeda was cut off completely by his father, the reasons as to why still perplex him. Not having spoken to his father in years, he still cannot find rhyme, nor reason as to why he was left out to dry. Takeda spiraled downwards, and an already beaten down artist turned to the bottle more and more for inspiration. Desperation was what drove him to eventually stop painting, and towards a temporary year of sobriety, before he fell off the wagon. In that same desperation, he found himself working odd jobs all across Kyoto, before finally giving up on the city in frustration. Arriving in Tokyo, Takeda had hoped to start fresh again, have a new life. All he found was the bottom of a bottle.
Without a penny to his name, the clothes on his back, and a begrudging acceptance that he would never be a major artist, Takeda found work throughout the city, just as he had in Kyoto. Eventually, his somewhat drifting lifestyle ushered him towards a run down store beneath a decrepit apartment complex...a store by the name of "Manga-Max". The owner made an arrangement that Takeda could live in one of the apartments, with rent/utilities coming out of his paycheck. Accepting it, Takeda effectively put himself into indentured servitude, with barely enough money to eat and support his growing lust for alcohol. Embittered by his utter defeat, Takeda formed hollow relationships with many on the bar scene, more often than not, just people to borrow money from. His life went by for no more than three months in this horrid state, before his telephone rang with a familiar voice on the other line.
Takeda's mother had given the boy a call after years of neglect, and pleaded with him to care for another, unknown bastard child. Obviously, he was not pleased with it, but after being coaxed night and day by incessant phone calls, he caved in. Before that moment, he had no clue that he had a brother, let alone thought that he'd have to care for him. After a bus ride to the airport, and awkward introductions, Takeda took in Seiji, his brother. The two did not get along well at all. In Seiji, he saw everything he despised about himself when he was younger...the boy was aloof, blank, seemingly uncaring, and so full of potential...he hated him from the moment they laid eyes on each other.
Day after day passed with the two sitting in what could be considered a fragile state of peace, with Takeda having to get the kid accustomed to the new, cramped style of living he was going to have to endure during his stay. Barely able to support himself, much less a teenage boy, Takeda's already stunted social life, which consisted of hopping from bar to bar, took a massive hit. Fueled by bitterness, Takeda distanced himself from Seiji, despite the teen's attempts at trying to find some common ground. There was a barrier as thick as the Berlin Wall between the two, and Takeda would be damned before that thing would be brought down.
There wasn't a day that went by where there wasn't some muttered curse in Seiji's direction by his irritable brother, nor was there a day where the two had to worry about food, or the constant worry that one of the ancient appliances laying around the apartment would give up on them. Every tiny thing that could go wrong, all the stress, it drove Takeda to drink even more, to not come home for days at a time on binges with his so-called friends. Seiji was left to his own devices most of the time, which just served to widen that emotional gap when his brother would stumble in, drunk out of his mind. Oddly enough, it was one last ditch effort to improve the two's morale on Seiji's part that resulted in their lives changing forever, for better or worse.
After enough pressure, and wanting to avoid fighting with a kid, resulting in a likely jail-term, Takeda used some of his leftover booze money to fund an outing to the movies. Riding the bus, once more, in silence, the two made their way to the theater, plopped down in the near empty darkness, and pulled out the food and such they had smuggled in. Takeda sipped from a bottle of cheap spirits, whilst his brother ate, tried to talk, and found himself met with utter indifference. Only half-way through the movie, the two ended up getting into a brief altercation, brought on by Seiji, when the theater grew still. Something was amiss.
No, it wasn't the typical bastard with a hole in the bottom of his popcorn bucket next to a pretty young thing, no, it wasn't something the two stepped in when Takeda stood up to leave. Everything was incredibly dark, the projector stopped playing, burning the film inside of it to a point where all that was left was the dim light, without sound. In that pale light, the two were treated to possibly the strangest sight they had seen in their entire lives. Coffins. Every row where they had seen bored moviegoers before, now had a coffin in place of a person. All was still, deathly quiet, and the two looked at one another with what could only be agreed upon as a collective thought. Book it the fuck out of there.
Before the two could even reach the doors, they were treated only to inky blackness where the exits once stood, as colorless as the midnight sky. Placing a hand on the darkness where the door was treated Takeda to some of the fiercest pain he had ever felt in his entire life, as if he had just had his hand crushed by a block of dry ice. Emerging from the darkness was a blank face, which bubbled to the surface, as Takeda proceeded to smack at the slimy visage with his liquor bottle. After shattering the glass over it's mask, he pried his hand free, pulling back as he noticed the figures pouring forth from each crack in the walls.
White masks surrounded them, seemingly embedded all along the walls as it seemed as the two were about to be doomed. Takeda stood in front of Seiji, his breath ragged, his injured, now bloodied hand from the liquor bottle still clutching the neck of it to possibly slash at something if it should come close. As the shapes all began to close in, like some eldritch monstrosities brought to life, and his warm blood sloshed on the door, until there was a sound from behind him, from Seiji. A loud shattering sound, not unlike his bottle...looking back, Takeda was treated to the sight of a ghostly knight towering over his trapped brother, who had his foot caught in the darkness.
Something instinctual, primal, had the clerk looking up at the knight in awe as it pulled forth, slashing at the murky blackness to free his brother from his bonds. During this distraction, something clutched at his leg, and at the arm that held the bottle. Once more, the cold bit at his flesh, almost seemingly through his jacket. With what felt like the most intense case of frostbite going through his skin, to his very bones, he turned to try and strike the beast, only to see another peculiar sight. A floating card, hovering in the air as if it was waiting for him to notice this entire time. His other arm was quickly grappled by the darkness, and he struggled to free it from the blob.
In his success from freeing himself, he reached out, grasping the card in his bloodied hand, to see it shatter once more into particles of light. From within him, something seemed to emanate, an energy, a presence he could not place. Over his head floated the strands from what looked to be a rag, and his attention was brought upwards. Above him, stood a floating figure, wearing tattered black robes, and monochromatic as if it was ripped from one of his earliest works. All fell into place, as if gears had begun rotating in his head that he wasn't even aware of, as he and his half-brother's phantasms began to drive back the darkness.
For what seemed like an eternity, the two fought their way through the darkness, pushing their way back to the lobby to behold the fading of a strange green haze that had fallen over things while they were in the theater. Needless to say, the two rushed back home, unsure of what they had just witnessed, of the phantasms they had unleashed on the strange blobs that had probably killed or eaten the people back in the theater. There was no clue as to what had happened, and for the first time, the two sat down and had a long talk about the entire incident.
Not but a night after the incident, Takeda found himself lying awake on his shitty little sofa, sketching away what he could remember of the two figures as vividly as he could possibly portray. Morbid curiosity wracked his brain as to what the hell happened, the man couldn't ignore it, couldn't put it behind him. Gazing at the portraits from time to time, he and his brother continue on with their day-to-day activities, school on his brother's part, alcoholic binges and work on his own. At night, that turns into a different story, as the two head out during the "Dark Hour" to observe...maybe fight off what's encroaching. The two are independent, unaware of the mess they've gotten themselves into. All the two know is that they have to stay together, stay alive, and hope to make it out.
OOC Name: Shinjibro Arafroman, Edgar Allan Fro, Fidel Cash-Flow, or Brayn Washington.
Notes: As a general rule of thumb, I just wanted to say how happy I am to be on the site 'n have some fun. If you have any ideas how you could end up talking to Takeda (He works the day shift, and goes out for a drink every weekened or so.), please, let me know. Looking forward to it guys.
<Anything below isn't needed for civilians.>
Persona: Faust
Appearance: A long, floating black cloak flows to the ground, slightly opening down the middle to reveal a worn, bare chest that appears slightly frozen over. Faust's face is covered by a deep hood that only leaves a lower jaw covered by a thick white beard exposed. Only his right hand is exposed, a liquid the color of dried blood constantly dripping from his pointer finger. Faust's coloration is almost too perfect to be real, as if he was plucked from a classic painting.
Persona Lore: A figure from German legends. Faust was a brilliant scholar that grew dissatisfied with his life as he grew older. He made a pact with the devil through his agent Mephistopheles, agreeing to give the devil his soul after twenty four years of earthly pleasure. It is only in later tellings of the legend that Faust finds redemption, instead being dragged to hell by the devil after his years of pleasure were finished.
Skills: Mudo and Agi
Strengths and Weaknesses: Resistant against Mudo, weak against Bufu.
Age: 23
Date of Birth: November 8th
Birthplace: Kyoto, Japan
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual, despite vicious rumors concerning a dead city in Italy.
Face Claim: I've no idea who this artwork is of, or who it's by. Props to 'em though.
Appearance:
Height: 6'0
Distinguishing Features: Other than the fact that Takeda dyes his hair a rather obnoxious shade of red, he's got a piercing in his right ear. (Don't ask, friend-o.)
Class: Persona-User
Arcana: The Tower
Occupation: When most people think of their own personal hell, they typically don't think of working as a clerk at a knock-off manga shop as the daytime clerk. Most people. Takeda though...
Starting Equipment: The only real armament in Takeda's arsenal is perhaps the one that's actually illegal to have in Japan. A rash of burglaries had hit the neighborhood where the clerk lived, long before Seiji reared his head into the apartment. Not one to be caught off-guard, Takeda exploited a loophole in the law regarding the importation of gun parts, along with bullets, to obtain an old Beretta 92FS from the states. Having friends from traveling abroad always helps. Though his skill with it only extends towards reloading it, and popping shots off, due to the rather abysmal instruction tapes that came with the gun, he still keeps it around for reasons unknown. The old 9mm is usually stored in a spot that's hollowed out behind the medicine cabinet, and as one may expect, does piercing damage.
Personality: Takeda Akiyama comes across, to most people, as the very portrait of a disgruntled blue-collar employee. Day in, day out, he wears a patronizing smile for each and every one of his customers. From the the pimple laden tweens, who want their favorite shonen character in figurine form, to replace the neglect of their parents, to the the pimple laden adults, who want their favorite shonen character in figurine form to masturbate to. Disgusting. All of them disgust him. Takeda comes across as a very cynical, and sarcastic individual to those that enter the store, and those he doesn't know. The only few customers he treats well, are those that have been around long enough to not fit into what he considers the "archetype"...even then, the most he'll usually do for them is sneak them a free issue, or maybe buy an eight ounce for them. Manga-Max manages to bring out the worst in Takeda, as if the place literally devours his happiness...there was a time he'd never be caught dead in this place. Now he wishes he was dead in it...at least then they'd have to close it down.
As for friends? Takeda is an avid drinker, and it shows when one stumbles into the foul smelling den of self-loathing known as his apartment...his friends never see the interior of this place, no, no. More often than not, before his brother moved in, Takeda found himself hitting the bar scene almost every day, with a crowd of drunken winos that he loosely attached the term friend to. From clubs to bars, he was truly the very antithesis of a home-body, doing everything to avoid the miserable mess of his existence at that abominable place. To his friends, he's a foul mouthed, but somewhat fun man to be around. He'll drink them under the table, most of the time, laugh at a joke, but it all rings hollow, as if something just isn't there for him. Outside of bars, nightclubs, and little drinking parties at houses, he typically doesn't do much with his friends, coming across as somewhat distant to most.
The opinions of others, and those he keeps at arms length aside...Takeda is truly a sad man. He presents himself with a sarcastic, distant act to those he despises, and never goes beyond skin-deep when it comes to conversational topics with anyone he comes across. At few points does he let this slip, other than when he's drunk...then he shows his true colors. He does not cry, he does not mourn the loss of his dreams and ambitions, he merely exists, like an animal. When drunk, he's cold, irritable, but honest...much like he wishes he could be with the people he calls friends. But no...they're not truly friends. Just vessels for him to talk to, and act human. Once upon a time, he was jovial, creative, and it still shines through on occasion, but it is buried deep within the muck of self-loathing, bitterness, and despair. Seldom will he brood, and even more rarely will he bring himself to share his displeasure, but Takeda considers himself utterly, and completely defeated.
Should someone catch him on a good day, or should the planets align during a drunken stupor, he'll let slip some of the good qualities in him, his artistic side will shine through, hell, he may even tell of past loves and exploits, but it is very rare...and the cold, disconnected air with which he carries himself, is thick indeed.
Likes: Once you get to that level of discontent with your life, you tend to cling to the few things that still elicit some sort of semblance of joy out of your rather miserable existence. Alcohol helps. It really does. Especially when you have at least ten acne covered teens yelling at you about how great their animu is and how...just, skip the details on the waifu crap. Other than that, Takeda does seem to take genuine joy out of classical artwork that's more in tune with the renaissance style, nothing modern, or post modern, or any of those pretentious scribbles that some college kids adore. If we were to get technical about his likes, Takeda's also a fan of a wide array of music, other than the country stuff he caught an earful of during his time in the states.
Dislikes: Oh boy, now here's the list that's gonna have some actual meat to it's bones. To put it in one clear, concise package, Takeda hates anime and manga with a fierce passion to rival a viking berserker. This is on top of his hatred for the customers that peruse the store most of the time, although he hears that some folks in the states have it even worse than he does when it comes to the clientele. That, and to quote one of the greatest men to eve-nah, just a pikey: "D'ya like dags?" No. No he doesn't. Takeda tends to avoid animals for the most part.
History:
Born on a cold November evening, in a packed maternity ward in Kyoto, Takeda Akiyama was the son of a Japanese salaryman, and a mother he later claimed to be the biggest whore since Babylon. Much like his estranged half-brother, it didn't take too long for his father to split, yet for much different reasons, he suspects...naturally, he was forced to live with his mother. Finances were taken care of by his father, but...that didn't keep things from being rough. At an early age, Takeda knew very well that his mother was something of a local pariah. A drunken mess, she was looked upon as the local bicycle...and given enough time, Takeda grew to share that opinion. Man after man showed up, some wanting Takeda to call them his father, and others simply passing through, like so many blurs along the highway. The boy would frequently find himself in fights with neighboring children over taunts over his mother, and it didn't take long for him to grow to resent her. School was his solace, there, he excelled at his studies, even earning the equivalent of honor roll, back home. In school, there was ambition, outside of it, the quagmire that made up his broken home. In second grade, his mother threw a drunken tantrum and kicked him out of the house for a night...needless to say, he wasn't happy with how his childhood was going.
Time passed naturally, and things grew ever more distant between Takeda and his mother. By the time he had reached high school, it was as if he was living with a complete stranger, and the feeling was mutual. Takeda was doing well in school, and seemed to have a particular knack for the arts, whereas his mother sat at home, a drunken mess that could barely draw flies to her at that point. Friends passed, loved ones moved on or changed, and the only constant was a state of separation between the two. His father would occasionally whisk him away for a weekend, wherein Takeda was genuinely happy, and was indulged in a life somewhat less grey than that which he had been left with. His father had moved on, found a girlfriend, soon to be an ex...then another, then another...but Takeda admired the man. As he neared graduation, those aforementioned visits came less frequently, but the two seemed to get along just fine.
When the time came to leave his house, Takeda finally unloaded a lifetime of hatred onto his mother, slammed the door shut, and never looked back. Calls would come, he'd be begged for forgiveness, and he'd pay lip service. He was free. The young man's father paid for his college, and he had the time of his life. Drunken parties, lost loves, and his one true one...the arts. There was a certain beauty in bringing life to the canvas, in giving meaning, to where there was none. Depth, that was what he loved...a meaning. His grades were excellent, his passion burning, as he was congratulated on some of his paintings. Graduation was a sad time for him, for academics really did manage to make him happy. He left the school with a developed taste for alcohol, art, and a lust for life.
It didn't take long for things to die down after college. Seeking employment as an artist, he was approached by relatively unknown manga authors to do illustrations, and after just two sessions, found it not to his liking. The characters lacked substance, a human element. Quality was sacrificed for quantity, or occasionally the unnatural movements of some animated harlot's gigantic air-bags. After turning down other candidates, he sought to simply paint, and hopefully find himself a niche in the art scene. The result was completely underwhelming. In Japan, his art was viewed as the attempts of a misguided youth to ape Western culture, in the west, it was viewed as simply antiquated in comparison to more expressionist works. With time, Takeda found himself relying on the finances of his father to keep afloat, and try to make it big.
One day, the money stopped coming, the letters and correspondences simply stopped. Takeda was cut off completely by his father, the reasons as to why still perplex him. Not having spoken to his father in years, he still cannot find rhyme, nor reason as to why he was left out to dry. Takeda spiraled downwards, and an already beaten down artist turned to the bottle more and more for inspiration. Desperation was what drove him to eventually stop painting, and towards a temporary year of sobriety, before he fell off the wagon. In that same desperation, he found himself working odd jobs all across Kyoto, before finally giving up on the city in frustration. Arriving in Tokyo, Takeda had hoped to start fresh again, have a new life. All he found was the bottom of a bottle.
Without a penny to his name, the clothes on his back, and a begrudging acceptance that he would never be a major artist, Takeda found work throughout the city, just as he had in Kyoto. Eventually, his somewhat drifting lifestyle ushered him towards a run down store beneath a decrepit apartment complex...a store by the name of "Manga-Max". The owner made an arrangement that Takeda could live in one of the apartments, with rent/utilities coming out of his paycheck. Accepting it, Takeda effectively put himself into indentured servitude, with barely enough money to eat and support his growing lust for alcohol. Embittered by his utter defeat, Takeda formed hollow relationships with many on the bar scene, more often than not, just people to borrow money from. His life went by for no more than three months in this horrid state, before his telephone rang with a familiar voice on the other line.
Takeda's mother had given the boy a call after years of neglect, and pleaded with him to care for another, unknown bastard child. Obviously, he was not pleased with it, but after being coaxed night and day by incessant phone calls, he caved in. Before that moment, he had no clue that he had a brother, let alone thought that he'd have to care for him. After a bus ride to the airport, and awkward introductions, Takeda took in Seiji, his brother. The two did not get along well at all. In Seiji, he saw everything he despised about himself when he was younger...the boy was aloof, blank, seemingly uncaring, and so full of potential...he hated him from the moment they laid eyes on each other.
Day after day passed with the two sitting in what could be considered a fragile state of peace, with Takeda having to get the kid accustomed to the new, cramped style of living he was going to have to endure during his stay. Barely able to support himself, much less a teenage boy, Takeda's already stunted social life, which consisted of hopping from bar to bar, took a massive hit. Fueled by bitterness, Takeda distanced himself from Seiji, despite the teen's attempts at trying to find some common ground. There was a barrier as thick as the Berlin Wall between the two, and Takeda would be damned before that thing would be brought down.
There wasn't a day that went by where there wasn't some muttered curse in Seiji's direction by his irritable brother, nor was there a day where the two had to worry about food, or the constant worry that one of the ancient appliances laying around the apartment would give up on them. Every tiny thing that could go wrong, all the stress, it drove Takeda to drink even more, to not come home for days at a time on binges with his so-called friends. Seiji was left to his own devices most of the time, which just served to widen that emotional gap when his brother would stumble in, drunk out of his mind. Oddly enough, it was one last ditch effort to improve the two's morale on Seiji's part that resulted in their lives changing forever, for better or worse.
After enough pressure, and wanting to avoid fighting with a kid, resulting in a likely jail-term, Takeda used some of his leftover booze money to fund an outing to the movies. Riding the bus, once more, in silence, the two made their way to the theater, plopped down in the near empty darkness, and pulled out the food and such they had smuggled in. Takeda sipped from a bottle of cheap spirits, whilst his brother ate, tried to talk, and found himself met with utter indifference. Only half-way through the movie, the two ended up getting into a brief altercation, brought on by Seiji, when the theater grew still. Something was amiss.
No, it wasn't the typical bastard with a hole in the bottom of his popcorn bucket next to a pretty young thing, no, it wasn't something the two stepped in when Takeda stood up to leave. Everything was incredibly dark, the projector stopped playing, burning the film inside of it to a point where all that was left was the dim light, without sound. In that pale light, the two were treated to possibly the strangest sight they had seen in their entire lives. Coffins. Every row where they had seen bored moviegoers before, now had a coffin in place of a person. All was still, deathly quiet, and the two looked at one another with what could only be agreed upon as a collective thought. Book it the fuck out of there.
Before the two could even reach the doors, they were treated only to inky blackness where the exits once stood, as colorless as the midnight sky. Placing a hand on the darkness where the door was treated Takeda to some of the fiercest pain he had ever felt in his entire life, as if he had just had his hand crushed by a block of dry ice. Emerging from the darkness was a blank face, which bubbled to the surface, as Takeda proceeded to smack at the slimy visage with his liquor bottle. After shattering the glass over it's mask, he pried his hand free, pulling back as he noticed the figures pouring forth from each crack in the walls.
White masks surrounded them, seemingly embedded all along the walls as it seemed as the two were about to be doomed. Takeda stood in front of Seiji, his breath ragged, his injured, now bloodied hand from the liquor bottle still clutching the neck of it to possibly slash at something if it should come close. As the shapes all began to close in, like some eldritch monstrosities brought to life, and his warm blood sloshed on the door, until there was a sound from behind him, from Seiji. A loud shattering sound, not unlike his bottle...looking back, Takeda was treated to the sight of a ghostly knight towering over his trapped brother, who had his foot caught in the darkness.
Something instinctual, primal, had the clerk looking up at the knight in awe as it pulled forth, slashing at the murky blackness to free his brother from his bonds. During this distraction, something clutched at his leg, and at the arm that held the bottle. Once more, the cold bit at his flesh, almost seemingly through his jacket. With what felt like the most intense case of frostbite going through his skin, to his very bones, he turned to try and strike the beast, only to see another peculiar sight. A floating card, hovering in the air as if it was waiting for him to notice this entire time. His other arm was quickly grappled by the darkness, and he struggled to free it from the blob.
In his success from freeing himself, he reached out, grasping the card in his bloodied hand, to see it shatter once more into particles of light. From within him, something seemed to emanate, an energy, a presence he could not place. Over his head floated the strands from what looked to be a rag, and his attention was brought upwards. Above him, stood a floating figure, wearing tattered black robes, and monochromatic as if it was ripped from one of his earliest works. All fell into place, as if gears had begun rotating in his head that he wasn't even aware of, as he and his half-brother's phantasms began to drive back the darkness.
For what seemed like an eternity, the two fought their way through the darkness, pushing their way back to the lobby to behold the fading of a strange green haze that had fallen over things while they were in the theater. Needless to say, the two rushed back home, unsure of what they had just witnessed, of the phantasms they had unleashed on the strange blobs that had probably killed or eaten the people back in the theater. There was no clue as to what had happened, and for the first time, the two sat down and had a long talk about the entire incident.
Not but a night after the incident, Takeda found himself lying awake on his shitty little sofa, sketching away what he could remember of the two figures as vividly as he could possibly portray. Morbid curiosity wracked his brain as to what the hell happened, the man couldn't ignore it, couldn't put it behind him. Gazing at the portraits from time to time, he and his brother continue on with their day-to-day activities, school on his brother's part, alcoholic binges and work on his own. At night, that turns into a different story, as the two head out during the "Dark Hour" to observe...maybe fight off what's encroaching. The two are independent, unaware of the mess they've gotten themselves into. All the two know is that they have to stay together, stay alive, and hope to make it out.
OOC Name: Shinjibro Arafroman, Edgar Allan Fro, Fidel Cash-Flow, or Brayn Washington.
Notes: As a general rule of thumb, I just wanted to say how happy I am to be on the site 'n have some fun. If you have any ideas how you could end up talking to Takeda (He works the day shift, and goes out for a drink every weekened or so.), please, let me know. Looking forward to it guys.
<Anything below isn't needed for civilians.>
Persona: Faust
Appearance: A long, floating black cloak flows to the ground, slightly opening down the middle to reveal a worn, bare chest that appears slightly frozen over. Faust's face is covered by a deep hood that only leaves a lower jaw covered by a thick white beard exposed. Only his right hand is exposed, a liquid the color of dried blood constantly dripping from his pointer finger. Faust's coloration is almost too perfect to be real, as if he was plucked from a classic painting.
Persona Lore: A figure from German legends. Faust was a brilliant scholar that grew dissatisfied with his life as he grew older. He made a pact with the devil through his agent Mephistopheles, agreeing to give the devil his soul after twenty four years of earthly pleasure. It is only in later tellings of the legend that Faust finds redemption, instead being dragged to hell by the devil after his years of pleasure were finished.
Skills: Mudo and Agi
Strengths and Weaknesses: Resistant against Mudo, weak against Bufu.
