Post by B on Apr 18, 2009 17:55:08 GMT -5
READ BETWEEN THE LINES
••
••
Name: Beyond Birthday.
Alias: B || Backup.
Gender: Male.
Age: 17.
Birth Date: April 13, 1984.LET ME SEE YOU SMILE
••
Height: 5’5.
Weight: 115.
Build: Slim, but athletic.
Eye Colour: Gray.
Hair Colour: Black.
Avatar: Beyond Birthday, Death Note.
Before B’s arrival at Wammy’s, his dress remained mostly simple. Whatever was comfortable, whatever fit, whatever his frugal parents could afford. Thus there never was a real style he preferred.
Until he caught a glimpse of the male he was to be aiming to succeed. From then on, he tended to tug on loose denims, blue; and a long-sleeved white shirt. Sometimes it would switch to black since he had a bad habit of staining the white with jam. Black hair, at first cut short, was grown out a bit, just enough to mirror his new mentor. His complexion had always been a mite bit pale but then he pushed it further, applying make-up to create the sense of exhaustion. There were now superficial bags beneath his wide gray hues. Said eyes were soon covered by colored contacts to match the black.
His arms and legs are rather slim and lanky, though toned. In a way, he’s almost boney, but definitely remained just above healthy body weight until he realized Lawli wasn’t. His lips are pale and fingers just as awkwardly longer. All in all, he looks rather unhealthy and somewhat creepy.THE DRUGS DON'T WORK
••
Likes:
- L.
- Winning.
- Jam.
- Puzzles.
- Learning.
- Anatomy.
- Chemisty.
- Philosophy.
- Disturbing others.
- His eyes.
Dislikes:
- L. (Yes, also.)
- Losing.
- Being mocked.
- Quillish Wammy.
- The orphanage.
- Ignorance.
- Restrictions.
Fears:
- Losing.
- Knowing his own lifespan.
Strengths:
- Critical thinking.
- Active Learning.
- Physically proficient.
- Intelligence.
- Persuasion.
- Social perceptiveness.
- Complex problem-solving.
- Time management.
Weaknesses:
- L.
- Mental stability.
- Social skills.
- Communication(minor weakness).
- Service orientation.
- Technical skills.
Specializations:
- The eyes.
- Acting/Lying.
- Offense fighting.
- Linguist.
Beyond Birthday tends to shift back and forth between extremes. Extreme anger to extreme cheer; extreme satisfaction to extreme rage; and all the while, he’s in utter control. B is intensely childish and lacks the ability to understand the world outside of his won aims. He is obsessed, of course, and not only in a loving, adoring way but also in a furious way. He blames others (specifically L later one) for any emotional downfalls he encounters and continues to do so while realizing that logically, it makes no sense. His mind is desperate to rationalize such illogical thoughts. This creates for contradictory though processes and confusing word choice when under excess levels of pressure.
He tries to keep as close a personality to L as he can, but has limited information and limited self control compared to the detective. Due to this, he tends to be angered randomly at himself which is directed externally. He isn’t afraid of death and this can sometimes be confused with being morbid. Or perhaps the two are one in the same. In any case, he doesn’t mind speaking or it, nor does he mind the idea of corpses or any related subjects.
The teeanger’s mind really has cracked, whether from his special eyes, birth, Wammys or L, it’s unclear. All in all, he’s unpredictable and sadistic… while also managing to maintain his sane outer appearance and brilliance.TELL ME YOUR STORY
••
Family: Barmaid Belle Birthday, Jenson Birthday; both deceased.
Heritage: 55% Partial Russian, 30% partial English, 15% Korean.
Hometown: Bedfordshire, Britain
Birthplace: Bedfordshire, Britain
Beyond Birthday was born in Bedfordshire, Britain on April 13th, 1984. His parents were mere employees of a brick manufacturing company, forced to work nearly all the time. The majority of his childhood consisted of collecting various prehistoric fossils until one day he found the carcass of a raccoon, run over at some point that evening. He didn’t get to much with it, seeing as half of it was squashed. However, he worked with what he had and dissected the remains. Finding the bodies got hard and proved mainly fruitless as the automobiles usually won the battle. So young seven-year old Beyond moved onto creating his own traps. This section of his life was devoted to problem solving, anatomy and various other areas of study to support his hobby. One night his father, who he’d seen less than the inside of animal corpses, found one of his ‘souvenirs’ who just so happened to be a neighbors’ missing cat.
And he was promptly beat by the man.
Of course, Beyond cried like the usual boy, but unlike the average child, learned to better himself from the extreme punishment. He understood that souvenirs were not allowed and he had to be more careful about evidence. He researched how to handle the corpses without leaving a trace, as though anyone would actually go so far as investigate the occasional deceased rabbit or squirrel. He never touched family pets, thus keeping tabs on the neighborhood families.
There were the Coulsons, the Heymanns, the Kelley’s, the Clunes and the Gilberts. All of the neighbors were friendly enough, normal, fathers also employed and an average of two children. The Clunes, however, were having marriage problems and his father was obviously visiting Mrs. Clune more often than necessary. The Heymann’s daughter was sneaking her boyfriend into the house via the vinebranch on Saturdays and her girlfriend came on Thursdays. Oh yes, he knew all the goings on. And how did he figure all this out? Ah, then there was the more important part of his childhood. He knew the names of everyone simply by seeing their face.
How?
Who knew?
Who cared?
Obviously it merely disturbed his mother to mention, as with most other individuals. There were also numbers. He never understood them. Not until Sherry Clune’s ran out and she had ended up attacked by an unknown thief. Killed. The oddest part of the crime was that he didn’t bother with stealing much. The police explained it as him being spooked about killing someone and rushing. Beyond didn’t look too hard into it, but without much time, he was easily able to conclude that the assault had been on purpose. The woman was always upstairs, too weak to descend or ascend them without assistance, which was why his father always had the key. She was found downstairs, however, as though attacked there in a panic. He didn’t care really, still caught up in his own hobby. The only real interest he took in the thought was… how a human would look cut open. She was dead afterall.
It was quickly approaching the Christmas of 1992 so his father was dragging him out to select one gift. There wasn’t much they could afford in money and time so that was his one really special time to select something. Beyond really just wanted a laptop, but that was unlikely so he’d settle for another riddle book or novel of sorts. Perhaps on the human anatomy, yes. On the way, they were attacked. Despite the exchange of shouts, it seemed like the thug was more interested in violence than the wallet his father reached for. And Beyond wasn’t even worried, didn’t bother trying to calm the situation whether he may have managed or not. Because those numbers… they were dropping quick.
And then it happened.
It was much like the sound of his self-made bear-traps snapping. A sharp sound, an ending of a life. It always had to be loud, didn’t it?
And the thug aimed at him, seemed more afraid of him than the boy himself probably looked. Oh, yes, he couldn’t see his own lifespan so who knew whether it was the end or not. He hoped not. He wondered if he could perhaps borrow his father’s body before calling the report in. Someone just so happened to scream, alerting a throng’s attention. The moron took off, not even bothering to pull the trigger. It didn’t seem that hard. Perhaps too easy, in fact. Just pull and it seemed he was now lacking one parental unit.
The police showed up, asked questions and returned him to his grieving mother. She played it up, hugged him, told him all these sweet little nothing before the cops. When they got home, she had him help her put father’s stuff away. It would be easy to explain away as the result of not wishing to be reminded. He didn’t care that she had done it, seeing as her life was just about running out too. Not much later, she died in a train crash and Beyond ended up stuck in a children’s home where he used the library to the fullest extent, catching onto various other subjects that interested him.
The other children were creeped out. He didn’t much care. In fact, he was amused by the fact that they shied away when he grinned just right. Due to this amusement, he’d practice smirking, grinning and even laughing in a bothersome/disturbing way. Eventually his genius was noticed by the correct individual and Quillish Wammy (though he called himself Watari, curious) visited to off his stay at the orphanage. The mention of the potential to become something great lured him in along with more knowledge. The very next week he was entering the gates of Wammy Orphanage.
And that was where his life really went wrong.YOU'RE GONNA GO FAR, KID
••
Name: B || Yankee (Whichever)
Age: 17-23
Experience: 5 < x years~
Codeword: Don't look here.
Fun fact: Fun fact? I love eggos~<3 Hate mac and cheese, honestly.
Sample Post:
(From a post-Kira roleplay with Mello)
B leaned into the cushions, fingers roaming, tugging blindly at the loose string, and-slowly, slowly, just carefully enough! - yes, he had the rhythm going now. It could break, definitely could, they weren’t that strong afterall. The strings that is. Over ten rolls of the sturdy twine had been wound around a spindly finger. The missing cloth in the cushions would be noticed… but ruled out as a rodent problem. How stupid they are. How disgustingly moronic.
It was almost boring. Except for the looks he’d get. They’d figure it out when he wove it into something stronger, when he had it around that guard’s neck, digging into the vulnerable skin. The neck of the ugly one. The one who always scratched his ass, acting like nothing horrendous could occur while he was safely handling a firearm.
A throaty chuckle slipped through the darkness. He wouldn’t escape- he wasn’t foolish enough to think that was possible. Not in this hi-tech fortress of a prison. And what did it matter anymore? That L, the one who’d set the Kira case on the backburner; it wasn’t Lawli. Oh, nonono, oh no, it was not. And that meant one thing. One certainty, one repulsive certainty. Kira had somehow won. Somehow. And one of L’s useless successors had taken his spot.
But which one? It didn’t matter. He’d kill them. Then Kira. Then… then…! He yanked the thread until it snapped off. The manic grin plastered throughout the mindless jumble of thoughts dwindled and his vision started to dance. Or he thought so. All he saw was black and red, so maybe it was his imagination. It probably was. Sensory deprivation had quite amusing affects on the mind, it was hilarious.
What had he been thinking about..?
Obsidian hues narrowed and the numb edge of his finger reminded him. Ah, strong string. It had already cut off circulation. Just as he’d do to that guard. Yes. Pale features twisted and he flinched, shifting to attention at the sudden white light entering the cell. And there was that ugly one. He could do it, he just needed to pull him into the room, pull off acting dehydrated, exhausted- each of which he was but blood-lust seemed to quench any other need.
“On your feet, y’animal.” That thick accent. He never liked the blending of words, sounded so effortlessly dense. He hummed, looking for all the world happy with his place in the world, which expectedly earned him a smack across the back of the head and a sharp yank by the elbow. Here we go, here we go---! “It’s yer lucky day. Pardon from the higher-ups. I’m sure we’ll be seein' eachother again, though.” The excitement and tenseness deflated instantly, fingers letting the string slip quietly into his sleeve. Pardon? Impossible. It had to be… actually, who would it be?
It could have been L before, but now… who? Interesting. Eyes finally dipped up to the numbers above the elder male’s head. A small smirk worked its way back to his face. “I regretfully doubt it.” All he got was a snort. They all knew about his outrageous claims already. No need to elaborate. Besides, he was curious. For once, it wasn’t boring. Being tugged along at a unnecessarily brisk pace, he finally set sights upon the room where a young man sat. Blond hair, glasses, suspicious much? Inside and wearing such an outfit.
His lips twitched in amusement. Sunglasses or no, he could still see it… Humming thoughtfully, onyx orbs flit over the name. Mihael Keehl. Ah, Ah, Ah. So had this been the one who’d taken over for L? Oh, so sad, so fucking sad. Pathetic. His muscles twitched, the urge to choke the feminine throat, strangle him and resuscitate him before repeating the action several times over. He stopped a couple of feet in front of the other as the guard abruptly yanked him to a stop.
B leaned into the cushions, fingers roaming, tugging blindly at the loose string, and-slowly, slowly, just carefully enough! - yes, he had the rhythm going now. It could break, definitely could, they weren’t that strong afterall. The strings that is. Over ten rolls of the sturdy twine had been wound around a spindly finger. The missing cloth in the cushions would be noticed… but ruled out as a rodent problem. How stupid they are. How disgustingly moronic.
It was almost boring. Except for the looks he’d get. They’d figure it out when he wove it into something stronger, when he had it around that guard’s neck, digging into the vulnerable skin. The neck of the ugly one. The one who always scratched his ass, acting like nothing horrendous could occur while he was safely handling a firearm.
A throaty chuckle slipped through the darkness. He wouldn’t escape- he wasn’t foolish enough to think that was possible. Not in this hi-tech fortress of a prison. And what did it matter anymore? That L, the one who’d set the Kira case on the backburner; it wasn’t Lawli. Oh, nonono, oh no, it was not. And that meant one thing. One certainty, one repulsive certainty. Kira had somehow won. Somehow. And one of L’s useless successors had taken his spot.
But which one? It didn’t matter. He’d kill them. Then Kira. Then… then…! He yanked the thread until it snapped off. The manic grin plastered throughout the mindless jumble of thoughts dwindled and his vision started to dance. Or he thought so. All he saw was black and red, so maybe it was his imagination. It probably was. Sensory deprivation had quite amusing affects on the mind, it was hilarious.
What had he been thinking about..?
Obsidian hues narrowed and the numb edge of his finger reminded him. Ah, strong string. It had already cut off circulation. Just as he’d do to that guard. Yes. Pale features twisted and he flinched, shifting to attention at the sudden white light entering the cell. And there was that ugly one. He could do it, he just needed to pull him into the room, pull off acting dehydrated, exhausted- each of which he was but blood-lust seemed to quench any other need.
“On your feet, y’animal.” That thick accent. He never liked the blending of words, sounded so effortlessly dense. He hummed, looking for all the world happy with his place in the world, which expectedly earned him a smack across the back of the head and a sharp yank by the elbow. Here we go, here we go---! “It’s yer lucky day. Pardon from the higher-ups. I’m sure we’ll be seein' eachother again, though.” The excitement and tenseness deflated instantly, fingers letting the string slip quietly into his sleeve. Pardon? Impossible. It had to be… actually, who would it be?
It could have been L before, but now… who? Interesting. Eyes finally dipped up to the numbers above the elder male’s head. A small smirk worked its way back to his face. “I regretfully doubt it.” All he got was a snort. They all knew about his outrageous claims already. No need to elaborate. Besides, he was curious. For once, it wasn’t boring. Being tugged along at a unnecessarily brisk pace, he finally set sights upon the room where a young man sat. Blond hair, glasses, suspicious much? Inside and wearing such an outfit.
His lips twitched in amusement. Sunglasses or no, he could still see it… Humming thoughtfully, onyx orbs flit over the name. Mihael Keehl. Ah, Ah, Ah. So had this been the one who’d taken over for L? Oh, so sad, so fucking sad. Pathetic. His muscles twitched, the urge to choke the feminine throat, strangle him and resuscitate him before repeating the action several times over. He stopped a couple of feet in front of the other as the guard abruptly yanked him to a stop.
