JULY 9, 2014.
Post by STORM MERCER on Jan 29, 2014 23:36:14 GMT -5
storm mercer
AGE
Nineteen. BORN
New York City, New York.RACE
Human (Bount).ALIGNMENT
True Neutral. ALIAS
N/A. ALLIANCE
Mr. Mercer; herself. DIFFICULTY
Hard.appearance
Storm has a mane of pink hair with a blend of white—it reaches down her lower back. She maintains it length between there and roughly mid-back. She prefers to stylize her hair in twin tails; it's rare to see her without them. Her eyes are an unusual red. Her skin is decorated with numerous scars, some large, and some small. Her ears are pierced but she has no other piercings other than those. She has a rather slender and lithe form. She's a small girl, weighing one hundred eleven pounds and standing at five feet, three inches in height.
While she has no preference for what she wears as long as it suffices to keep her warm and blend in with a crowd, she typically dresses casually; appropriate for her modest nature. A simple black minidress, branded with a red cross through it vertically, with white frills at the hem, along with black boots tends to accommodate her needs. More often than not, she's carrying around some form of bag or case that conceals her katana.
While she has no preference for what she wears as long as it suffices to keep her warm and blend in with a crowd, she typically dresses casually; appropriate for her modest nature. A simple black minidress, branded with a red cross through it vertically, with white frills at the hem, along with black boots tends to accommodate her needs. More often than not, she's carrying around some form of bag or case that conceals her katana.
personality
As a result of her upbringing, Storm is a blend of black and white—ying and yang. She comes with the entire shy package. Social interaction has rarely resulted in many good things for her, aside from treatment from one person, which has made her distrusting. She has found that being tactful and polite has reduced the amount of abuse and or verbal harassment she takes from people, and thus employs it often. After all, she is sensitive to pain and misery, and wants to refrain from it by all means necessary. She frightens easily and bears the psychological characteristics of a mouse. Even the most slight of a touch would elicit an anxious reaction from her—jumping back, being startled, smacking the hand away, all of the above, etc.
Aside from her guardian, being around people has always made her squeamish and uncomfortable. Additionally, it tends to show. Not making eye contact, looking as though she just seen a ghost, being robbed of her natural color the moment she engages anyone, all of them contribute to providing her company with a really good idea that she is uncomfortable and all the more awkward. She is obviously introverted and spends a lot of her time going through introspection. When it comes to problem solving, she sees no reason not to do anything necessary, because she hasn't experienced any actual consequences for taking the most extreme approaches to a situation. In fact, the extremist approach tended to solve her problems whenever they arose, so should she overcome her fear in any given situation, it'd be her first line of thought when it came to a method.
Softspoken, reserved, quiet, speaks with a frequent stutter—a thunderstorm would ironically haunt her for days. Other than blacksmithing she enjoys replicating things she's seen in popular media through her craft (swords, weapons, etc) in her spare time, as well as training out of a need to keep what matters safe by means of her powers, playing with toys she missed out on in her childhood (toy helicopters, consoles, what have you), and reading. In fact, she could even be considered a bookworm.
Aside from her guardian, being around people has always made her squeamish and uncomfortable. Additionally, it tends to show. Not making eye contact, looking as though she just seen a ghost, being robbed of her natural color the moment she engages anyone, all of them contribute to providing her company with a really good idea that she is uncomfortable and all the more awkward. She is obviously introverted and spends a lot of her time going through introspection. When it comes to problem solving, she sees no reason not to do anything necessary, because she hasn't experienced any actual consequences for taking the most extreme approaches to a situation. In fact, the extremist approach tended to solve her problems whenever they arose, so should she overcome her fear in any given situation, it'd be her first line of thought when it came to a method.
Softspoken, reserved, quiet, speaks with a frequent stutter—a thunderstorm would ironically haunt her for days. Other than blacksmithing she enjoys replicating things she's seen in popular media through her craft (swords, weapons, etc) in her spare time, as well as training out of a need to keep what matters safe by means of her powers, playing with toys she missed out on in her childhood (toy helicopters, consoles, what have you), and reading. In fact, she could even be considered a bookworm.
history
Where I was Born and Razed.
Storm never knew her parents. For whatever reason, they decided to abandon her after she had been born, in New York; perhaps they were killed. In truth, one of her parents were a part of one of the initial batches of Bount, dating back to roughly five hundred years ago. It was her mother — a rare Bount who wasn't infertile. She started to let her guard down over the years and got in with a human, eventually becoming pregnant and thus proving her fertility. She had Storm when she was nearly four hundred eighty year old, carefully maintaining her youth via the consumption of souls. However, as this man she desired was within New York, she was forced to move there and completely abandon her synthetic point of origin. Despite the vastitude of her experience, she perished at the hands of an equally skilled Shinigami perhaps a month after Storm was born. Her father abandoned her the moment the concept of raising such a thing alone came to mind.
She was discovered in the place of abandonment by authorities before she would succumb to weather, infection, and or hunger. The dormant supernatural powers within her core could have saved her from doom. After having been rushed into emergency care and taken care of, she was sent to an orphanage.
Unable to identify her or deduce what family she came from, they named her after the weather she was found in. She was fed, clothed, and had a place to stay, but got a foreboding, minimal amount of attention; infants required a lot of physical interaction to develop, in a psychological sense, properly. It sufficed to learn her how to speak, and other basic things. By the time she was old enough to understand what was going on around her, she acknowledged the poor living conditions, minimal supervision. There weren't too many staff, and they were extremists.
The home wasn't doing well financially. Due to this the food was terrible—either undiagnosable mush or cold vegetable soup broth—toys were rare to nonexistent, beds and furniture were stained, unkempt and uncomfortable. Most of the time she was sick. If she did manage to get a hold of something, it was much like a bullseye being painted on her back; it'd be stolen by the next day. Grueling chores, lack of psychiatric medication, and abusive staff bred problem children, who'd typically insist on taking out pent up anger on her. The most miniscule of mistakes on her part would warrant punishment from staff. Scars and other blemishes became common on her body. Inflictions were hardly tended to by sterilized equipment, if at all, thus decorating her arms and legs with pus laced lacerations.
She hadn't ever tasted fun, or affection, but did know pain. So much of it that she didn't "crave" it, but became sick of it, to the point where even the most faint of a touch would instill fear into her; she became anxious. Her mind was riddled with the thought that everything was out to get her. God only knew what was in the outside world—would it have been even worse? At that point of her life she was unable to discern the difference between the other residents and the monsters of tales.
One day, she caught glimpse of something. When children in the home reached the age of sixteen, they had to leave. At the time she was twelve, and thus had four years left before she was forced out. At the time a boy had been reluctant to leave, knowing of the horrors that awaited outside: the rates for suicide, turning to crime, or being homeless were too high. As a result, he rebutted and struck one of the staff there. It appeared to have caused a chain reaction in the inhabitants, encouraging them to retaliate and, despite their efforts, they only ended up getting everyone, no exceptions, punished. Anger universally flourished, and she was still the primary target.
Snap.
What if, she thought to herself at the time, what if I rebut like the boy? Would it feel good? She didn't know. She couldn't relate to the sensation of fun or enjoyment, aside from being able to satiate her physical hunger. And that's precisely why she tried it, and set fire to the building. Everyone burned to death within it, and by some miracle or show of karma...
From the ashes...
She arose.
It felt good.
- -
A blacksmith was the first to the scene, a man by the name of Michael Mercer. He was the one who pulled her out of the building, ultimately saving her life, while the firefighters and police did their jobs. Being a widower and having no children of his own, he decided that this was a sign, and he'd adopt her. She was young, and with little to no education he seen to it that she'd be his apprentice, and learn the ways of the sword, and blacksmithing. He specialized in many things, from fencing to tools, but also made replicas of unique weaponry, especially swords. She enjoyed the affection, and much improved living conditions. Unfortunately, little did anyone know she had developed the belief that taking things to the extreme both felt good and solved her problems.
By the age of sixteen, she was able to work, and was talented with her craft, thanks to her teacher and guardian. Eventually, Mercer was attacked by a hollow. He was wounded, and when Storm arrived at the scene just before her house he discouraged her involvement, and told her to run. Despite her bearing the nerves of a jittery mouse, her bond with her foster father was strong enough to draw her out of her frightened shell. Her Bount powers awakened, and she was able to defeat the subject with ease by employing her powers, crude as they may have been at the time.
Her father regarded the abilities as a miracle. He appeared to be spiritually aware, moreover. Now nineteen, to present day, she has been coping with external issues while living with her legal guardian, honing her abilities, otherwise remaining as neutral as she can.
For now.
Storm never knew her parents. For whatever reason, they decided to abandon her after she had been born, in New York; perhaps they were killed. In truth, one of her parents were a part of one of the initial batches of Bount, dating back to roughly five hundred years ago. It was her mother — a rare Bount who wasn't infertile. She started to let her guard down over the years and got in with a human, eventually becoming pregnant and thus proving her fertility. She had Storm when she was nearly four hundred eighty year old, carefully maintaining her youth via the consumption of souls. However, as this man she desired was within New York, she was forced to move there and completely abandon her synthetic point of origin. Despite the vastitude of her experience, she perished at the hands of an equally skilled Shinigami perhaps a month after Storm was born. Her father abandoned her the moment the concept of raising such a thing alone came to mind.
She was discovered in the place of abandonment by authorities before she would succumb to weather, infection, and or hunger. The dormant supernatural powers within her core could have saved her from doom. After having been rushed into emergency care and taken care of, she was sent to an orphanage.
Unable to identify her or deduce what family she came from, they named her after the weather she was found in. She was fed, clothed, and had a place to stay, but got a foreboding, minimal amount of attention; infants required a lot of physical interaction to develop, in a psychological sense, properly. It sufficed to learn her how to speak, and other basic things. By the time she was old enough to understand what was going on around her, she acknowledged the poor living conditions, minimal supervision. There weren't too many staff, and they were extremists.
The home wasn't doing well financially. Due to this the food was terrible—either undiagnosable mush or cold vegetable soup broth—toys were rare to nonexistent, beds and furniture were stained, unkempt and uncomfortable. Most of the time she was sick. If she did manage to get a hold of something, it was much like a bullseye being painted on her back; it'd be stolen by the next day. Grueling chores, lack of psychiatric medication, and abusive staff bred problem children, who'd typically insist on taking out pent up anger on her. The most miniscule of mistakes on her part would warrant punishment from staff. Scars and other blemishes became common on her body. Inflictions were hardly tended to by sterilized equipment, if at all, thus decorating her arms and legs with pus laced lacerations.
She hadn't ever tasted fun, or affection, but did know pain. So much of it that she didn't "crave" it, but became sick of it, to the point where even the most faint of a touch would instill fear into her; she became anxious. Her mind was riddled with the thought that everything was out to get her. God only knew what was in the outside world—would it have been even worse? At that point of her life she was unable to discern the difference between the other residents and the monsters of tales.
One day, she caught glimpse of something. When children in the home reached the age of sixteen, they had to leave. At the time she was twelve, and thus had four years left before she was forced out. At the time a boy had been reluctant to leave, knowing of the horrors that awaited outside: the rates for suicide, turning to crime, or being homeless were too high. As a result, he rebutted and struck one of the staff there. It appeared to have caused a chain reaction in the inhabitants, encouraging them to retaliate and, despite their efforts, they only ended up getting everyone, no exceptions, punished. Anger universally flourished, and she was still the primary target.
Snap.
What if, she thought to herself at the time, what if I rebut like the boy? Would it feel good? She didn't know. She couldn't relate to the sensation of fun or enjoyment, aside from being able to satiate her physical hunger. And that's precisely why she tried it, and set fire to the building. Everyone burned to death within it, and by some miracle or show of karma...
From the ashes...
She arose.
It felt good.
- -
A blacksmith was the first to the scene, a man by the name of Michael Mercer. He was the one who pulled her out of the building, ultimately saving her life, while the firefighters and police did their jobs. Being a widower and having no children of his own, he decided that this was a sign, and he'd adopt her. She was young, and with little to no education he seen to it that she'd be his apprentice, and learn the ways of the sword, and blacksmithing. He specialized in many things, from fencing to tools, but also made replicas of unique weaponry, especially swords. She enjoyed the affection, and much improved living conditions. Unfortunately, little did anyone know she had developed the belief that taking things to the extreme both felt good and solved her problems.
By the age of sixteen, she was able to work, and was talented with her craft, thanks to her teacher and guardian. Eventually, Mercer was attacked by a hollow. He was wounded, and when Storm arrived at the scene just before her house he discouraged her involvement, and told her to run. Despite her bearing the nerves of a jittery mouse, her bond with her foster father was strong enough to draw her out of her frightened shell. Her Bount powers awakened, and she was able to defeat the subject with ease by employing her powers, crude as they may have been at the time.
Her father regarded the abilities as a miracle. He appeared to be spiritually aware, moreover. Now nineteen, to present day, she has been coping with external issues while living with her legal guardian, honing her abilities, otherwise remaining as neutral as she can.
For now.
OOC NAME
Solace.[b]GUILTY CROWN[/b] - inori yuzuriha by [i]storm mercer[/i]
coded by electric of gangnam style
