OOC: Atlantis Arising [M]
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February 10th, 2012 (3:40 AM). Edited February 11th, 2012 by TornZero.
Resident Yuri-ism Cult Leader
In your pantry, eatin' your delicious cake.
One of the side-main characters' powers is to glow and he acts like it's really impressive compared to others, introduced pretty early in the movie IIRC. *Possibly unintentional reference: Got.* SU ahead.
17 (August 26th)
Cira's Atlantean tattoo sits in the palms of his hands, one "half" of the tattoo in each. They somewhat resembled an outline of a pair of half-open, drowsy eyes on their appearance. There are even pupils, but he can't see out of them.
Being of Caucasian heritage, Cira's naturally a pale person, but living near the beach in Washington easily gives him access to plenty of sun and a light golden-brown skin tone (which has jokingly been equated to under-toasted toast) once a month or so. He's just below average in height, standing at a clean five feet and five inches. He weighs in at 126 pounds with fairly long limbs. Cira's actually pretty toned under his clothes despite his smooth skin and light-weightedness, with solid, slim legs and an otherwise healthy torso for his height, though he's far from being a bodybuilder, as evidenced by his upper arm's apparent lack of muscle. His slim arms are arguably "kinda thick noodles," as his friends would call them, and he has slightly bony piano player fingers to match.
His head is somewhat more effeminate than the rest of his body, with smooth skin, well-defined cheekbones, wide gray eyes with a black circle on the outside, and a high forehead. He usually keeps his face covered by his hair, dirty blonde and hanging mostly straight down a couple inches past his shoulders, including his bangs. It fringes off here and there and starts to get into waves a little ways from the ends, but otherwise his hair is straight-cut and well-managed. If he has to, he'll have the bangs swiped to one side or pushed behind his ears, or he'll hold it all back in a ponytail. Cira's voice is rather open, but smooth, where everything he says after the first letter flows together unless he's told to enunciate.
His choice in clothing always took comfort as the top priority, and almost never changes between seasons (with the exception of adding a loose wool hoodie with a tartan/plaid outer pattern for the winter or cold climates). His casual attire conceals most of the actually masculine parts of his body, typically taking a pair of nice loose cargo pants, in styles from beige to gray to black and, of course, camo. His shirts are ALWAYS a variety of aloha shirt, which are much more versatile in their style. They have different flower patterns on each shirt, and the color scheme ranges across all types from a plain, water-color style to intricate, multi-colored vines. There's even a camo scheme in his wardrobe somewhere.
On formal occasions, Cira wears a pair of either black or white dress slacks and an opposite-centered aloha shirt. (So black slacks means white-centric shirt, and vice versa.) As for any accessories, he keeps a waterproof gold and fiberglass pocketwatch in his right pocket, hooked to a chain that keeps it anchored to an off-center belt buckle. Cira also keeps an MP3 player in his left pocket, with long white earbuds that snake up his shirt and, when not in use, hang in the shirts' standard pocket. His only other accessory is a pair of plain white hair ties he keeps around his left wrist until they're needed, and one is stretched more than the other.
This young man is a realist with some kind of fantasy story (or a lot of them) going on in his head, to say something about him. Cira won't believe something until he sees or experiences it himself. It also leaves him to think through things more logically. Along with it, he has no real moral standing. He doesn't have a sense of "Right Vs. Wrong," but a sense of "What Has the Most/Least Benefit," paying attention to results as much as he does the process of things. He's somehow made a habit of being straight-forward, almost entirely circumventing being nice about someone's faults, especially his own; this is probably the most annoying thing about him. (He DOES try to dodge any flaw questions, though, so to avoid anything sappy or defensive.)
If he doesn't have to worry as much, like during a routine that's been established, Cira's extremely laid back, and admittedly a little lazy the more he knows what he's doing. However, he CAN adapt to change, trying to be optimistic and looking for the best in what's new. It just takes him a little while to settle in. He's social, too, trying to make friends out of anybody he can. Despite this, he tries keeping most of his personal life out of almost everyone else's minds.
Keeping his MP3 player within reach at almost any given moment, Cira is quite literally addicted to music. He can manage without, but he'll take any chance to listen to something when it's made available to him. He'll listen to almost anything (except opera and screamo), but most of the content on his player is purely orchestral. He's also taken the habit of air-playing a piano along to his music selection if a real one isn't available.
Cira Gaile was born to a pretty regular family: a father (Alexander, who always tried to be a jester in the family), mother (Cynthia, the mediator of sorts between them all should anything break out), and an older sister named Ashley (who's only older than Cira by two years) near Olympia, Washington. Most of the first few years was spent playing with his sister (who had taken to the nickname "Ashe"), at least before she started going to school where playtime became less frequent. He quickly took an adoration to music when he first heard it over the radio, and started to learn how to play a piano when he turned five (after a
begging). When he'd finally started an education himself the next year, he was able to play some basic songs, and he was originally happy to see his sister as often as he used to. But now she had more friends; she didn't have time for him like she used to. Cira understood this just fine, but was still saddened until he made his own friends. Ashley went from best friend to just another person he knew (that was also related to him) in two short years. He started to think without the attachment to his emotions here, after finding out people can change so easily, especially depending on the people they know. Even he could be affected.
Skipping ahead a few years to Cira's eighth and last year of primary school (due to the rest being generally boring and average, aside from getting better at playing the piano), Ashe managed to skip her seventh year and was now a third-year high schooler. Along with it, she started to get a little prideful. She was confident in her intelligence and started to go to parties and raves. On nights when the parents weren't home, she'd go out late and come back drunk in the (very) early morning. Somehow, she managed to stumble through and pass her junior year while Cira finally made it to high school.
The Gaile boy was more eager for the variety of classes than the people, though, since his friends from primary school came with him. He did whatever he could, for the most part, to excel in class, including getting classes that already involved things he was good at or thought would be useful, like the school orchestra and an Italian language class, both of which he stuck with through high school. (Why Italian? He partially wanted to mess with the local Olive Garden, partially wanted to tour Italy, and partially because his favorite historical figure at the time, Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci, was Italian.) Cira even enjoyed his gym classes, considering most of them had some exciting obstacle courses he had to make his way through, which he tried to plan out for each obstacle.
Most of the rest of his high school time was pretty smooth, being the one that didn't go out and party whenever he wanted despite gaining enough independence from his family to do so. Ashe graduated with just barely a 3.2 grade point average, and went her own way for college. (She actually said, "I'm got enough party out of me from my last two years," assuming she could get herself together in uni.) Cira became a go-to guy of sorts for the school's orchestra for his recently-found bluntness and neutrality; nothing seemed just "good" or "bad" to him anymore, it was just on a rank of benefit, and being straight with someone was more effective to him (even if he had to endure a slap or punch once in a while). He even took up mentoring kids in primary school that wanted to learn to play the piano.
He was nearly at the end of his final year in high school and in the middle of his last P.E. test, which consisted of a five-kilometer run, when the Atlanteans pulled out that big reveal. As he was preparing himself and double-knotting his shoelaces, his hands started to feel hot. At first it was slight, like standing a few inches from a heater, but it quickly started to feel like bugs were crawling under his skin. He almost freaked from this feeling, but it was thankfully short-lived. He looked at his hands to see if they were okay, and they were, but there were... well, a pair of eyes in his palms. At least the basic outline of a pair of eyes, like they were drawn on, and kind of drowsy; they looked half-closed.
Day of the Surprise Tattoos?
is what he thought at this. With the notion of bugs crawling under his skin still fresh in his mind, this wasn't as insane as if it happened first. So he needed to get finished with this fast, then get to a doctor, or maybe an exorcist. What are a pair of eyes going to do to him, right? Apparently, they made him bolt the five-kilo run in a matter of two and a half minutes, contrary to the seven minutes that belonged to the (former?) fastest student in the class, soon after which he collapsed.
The outline of both eyes blended with his palms a bit, so no one must've seen them unless they really paid attention to Cira's hands. He was sent home after a short visit to the school nurse with a note that he just exhausted himself running the way he did. He must've had delusions, too, because he was blabbering about eyes in his hands. Maybe his parents would believe him? (Or just one of them, since his mother was away on a family reunion.) It was worth a shot.
It turns out Cira's dad obtained a tattoo around the same time as him. It kind of looked like a deformed version of a murder victim's outline after the body got moved, and it left Cira's father able to temporarily have the properties of whatever he was holding. They quickly awayed to the internet and news, knowing a doctor couldn't help them and that something was up if it happened at the same time for both of them, and found out about the Atlanteans. It didn't take long, really. News about them was literally everywhere the media had instant access, talking about all those of Atlantean descent having to register themselves for an identification card.
Cira has the power of vector manipulation, controlling most things movable through Euclidean vectors (the force, so to speak, required to carry anything from point A to point B). He can potentially give himself pseudo-superhuman strength by controlling the vectors in and around his body, along with propelling himself, objects, energy and waves through the air or redirecting them from their current path. This, in its fullest, ranges from "defying" gravity by moving himself or the wind around him to redirecting fireballs, to even directing the sound waves in his voice to a certain destination.
Right now, he can't move more than what he can already lift without it (whereas moving anything heavier will cause him physical duress as if he was trying to actually pick it up), and it tires him out quickly when used on himself or something heavier than a full clothes hamper. Not to mention the wind-burn he gets moving about so quickly. Cira doesn't know how to control it very well yet, obviously, and the ability can easily backfire on him when he's not focused enough. He may end up moving himself in an undesired direction like throwing himself in the air or backwards along the ground, or hurling objects at himself and others around him.
(This one's all the way back from BROKEN;;.)
Lucas laid on his bed, pacing around in his own mind. Tossing the Pokéball up and catching it, his most pressing thought was,
So I'm going to be a Pokémon no matter what.
This little sphere caused plenty of trouble, not to mention missing a week of everything outside the home. Well, not everything. He did occasionally turn on the TV or computer and look at the news, or tell his friends-- another problem came across his train of thought.
What would they do if they found out he was part Pokémon? Of course they wouldn't believe him without seeing it, but if they did? Would they be afraid of him? Have him executed? Or maybe caged up and tested.
"That's a matter best saved for later, I guess." He sat up and made his way to his bedroom window, closing the blinds. Lucas finally lowered his mourning rate to manageable levels, and decided he could make it to practice today. Picking up his bag off the floor and getting ready to leave, he checked the bathroom mirror; much to his dismay. "Ugh, I look like Scissorhands." His hair was a mess, face whiter than snow, and dark circles were lining his eyes. He hadn't left the house in a while, so he didn't really notice. Practice could wait, but this was nothing a hot shower couldn't fix.
After Lucas finished his shower and got himself dressed and ready to leave, he heard a gunshot from the distance; probably a Pokémon on the Mahogany border.
Another notch on the board.
Pulling his gym bag over his shoulder, he hurried down from his room and out to the front door when something on the dining room table caught his eye. It looked like a doll, or an alien, Lucas couldn't really tell what it was. "I can worry about it later." He rushed out of his home and started walking down the street when he saw it again.
The little alien-doll thing was sitting in his neighbor's window sill, staring at the young man.
He heard it, but didn't see a mouth move. Did that thing even have a mouth? Lucas picked up the pace to a quick walk, almost into a jog, and was obviously creeped out by the thing staring at him like the Mona Lisa. He saw it again and again, on rooftops, in homes, yet... no one else seemed to notice anything but his apparent paranoia. He finally reached the front door to the martial arts building and almost jumped out of his skin when he was about to step on it!
It was right in front of him, what looked to be its head tilted back with green button-like shapes looking dead into his eyes. Thoroughly creeped out, and trying to take a step around it, a loud "ELGYEM" rang through his head and he closed his eyes in sheer pain thinking his ear drums would burst. The next thing he opened his eyes to (thankfully not the blinding light or he'd feel totally screwed over) was a clearing in front and a tree below. Obviously, not knowing how to react when caught suspended in the air, he landed on a branch gut-first and slipped to the ground clutching his stomach.
The pain subsided after a short while, only to be replaced by shock and awe in where he'd ended up. He had no clue what to make of the grass or the breeze, but at least that strange creature was gone. The sun was shining and the place looked lush and alive, so maybe it wouldn't be all too bad here; at least for a while. Snapping himself out of his gaze, he took a closer look into his present location and saw a few silhouettes -- possibly people -- in varying directions. One looked like it was shuffling around; another was practically in a breakneck sprint. Lucas found a large tree a shorter distance than the rest of the silhouettes, and a darkened figure underneath. He ended up somewhere from Mahogany Town in an instant, so he might just be going insane.
That tiny doll or whatever would have proven that a thousand times over, and I'm starting to think so myself. Not good for my health.
"Only one way to find out, I guess," he muttered in his silence. He straightened his legs and stretched out, picked up his gym bag, and started making a way over to the tree he saw.
I'm hoping the only thing that seems weird or missing is the 6-7 year gap between his first and last years of primary school. >>
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