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30 April 2008 @ 06:13 pm
Roleplayer: Sodium
Name: Miyavi
Side: Independent
Position Within Gang: Arms Dealer
Status: Immortal
Age: 23
Height: 184cm
Weight: 57 kg
Eye Colour: Brown
Hair Colour: Usually black- is variable though
Blood Type: AB
Sexuality: Dubious
Skills: Miya can talk his way out of a ditch, not to mention shoot with precision but his two absolute favorite assets are his love to tinker with gadgets (mainly firearms) and adept skills with wax crayons.
Weapon(s) of choice: .45 Long Colt, Steyr Rifle and his Baretta
Hypothetical Question, if you were attacked by killer zombies, what would you do?: First things first Miyavi would throw the closest bystander to the on coming hordes to distract the beasts before fleeing for his life. Then he would hole himself on the 23rd floor of an apartment complex with his weapons cash ready for the unnatural freaks to eat brass.
Personality Traits: He’s talkative and in a general nature quite chipper for the dire circumstances of the city. Personally, Meeves would rather move forward with his business then lay in squalor and misery about things he cannot change. So he makes the best of the worst. Sometimes that makes him a tad bit eccentric (or scatter brained) and a bit of a dork, but Miyavi enjoys the colour he brings into his own life. The youth might not be the bravest soul going but he sure as hell knows how to save his own hide. Or at least, duck and cover. And when that doesn’t work he runs to the only guy he’d trust to dig bullets out of his body, Klaha.
Distinguishing Marks: Unfortunately Miyavi’s quite easy to pick out of a line up. He has one lip ring, a nose ring, and eyebrow ring, multiple piercings in his ears and complete plethora of tattoos scattered across his body in black ink.
Habits: Any flat space around him is generally converted into a workspace which soon will get clogged up with clutter from his scavenges around the city. Myv makes a hobby out of collecting old and dusting electronics, pulling them apart and using their innards to fashion his own person firearm accessories. Though there’s no guarantee they’ll work 100% of the time… He also chews on the end of things, pens, screw drivers, glasses, etc.
A bit fuzzy on the details, Miya only really knew his Grandmother while she raised him in the slums of the city. Without a properly decent education he never quite grew into the well rounded individual he could have been with private schooling but the bright boy learnt to stay on his toys and evade those larger and stronger then he. At the early age of 18 Miyavi enlisted and joined the army.
He was stationed over on the mainland in a technical crew where he worked in the armory handing out and fixing up the arms. When the war hit Myv disbanded and ran for it. To make it back home he joined a decently pathetic crew and began smuggling army grade weapons back into the City. During one of his many secret voyages across the ‘ocean’ he met a quiet, somewhat disturbed doctor with a cozy warm body. Finding a mutual amigo in Klaha, Miyavi then put up the man in his basement for awhile until the born again assassin joined Atsushi’s clan.
Once the crew was finally caught, the wiley teen squeezed out of the mess to ditch his natural name and pick up his beloved Miyavi under which he set up shop as an arms dealer/pet store owner.
(The last being a boyhood dream of his)

Please attach a picture of yourself.
22 March 2008 @ 12:26 am
How many days had it been?
In the darkness of that ambiguous home, time seemed to stand still. There was something about that beach side, empty house that froze the standards of his regular life. Regular however was a weird notion for a whoring boy (severely) under twenty-five.
It was another early morning that the well used pink princess found his way back through the club’s day time quietness. Bare feet shuffled up the stairs towards where his own bed lay, warm and welcoming.
Pausing, he looked at his door, then the one beside it. He’d been cleaned up, even brushed out the tangles in his hair while in the wolf’s care.
What would Die say if Aya showed up three days later in the same outfit he’d left for Valentines in?
Snorting to himself, he smiled. Die probably wouldn’t care. He had his own things to think about. Like the Yakuza. He’d fucked up earlier, the red haired host was not happy with him the last time they’d met. It seems that’s how their relationship went. Aya fucked something up only to hurt Die.
Still clutching the gifts to his chest, the smaller boy knocked on his dear brother’s door.

Brother currently going through his clothes trying to decide which he'd keep and which were headed for the trash now that Spring practically dictated a new wardrobe. The knock was a bit of a surprise since he knew he didn't have a client for hours yet. Kicking aside a pile of shirts that might be salvageable - missing buttons, the occasional rip from anxious hands - Die made his way to the door and jerked it open. A messenger of some kind he expected. Aya he hadn't been, though he merely blinked owlishly and nodded in greeting. The door opened wider to let his little brother in, and he raised a brow at the outfit seen days previous.
"Laundry," he lied and returned to the messy pile and sat in its midst again. "How was Valentine's?" he asked, mildly curious, though not enough to really pry. What other hosts did was something he rarely pried into since even sex could hold secrets and he rarely shared his. Secrets, that is. Sex could be just a nice fuck now and then. Die mentally smiled at the thought, remembering Aya lashed to his wall. Ah, but that was 'before' and between then and now, he hadn't really made an effort to repair the little rift that lingered either. Then again, between he and Yoshiki, there was no hope of fixing anything so he wasn't about to try there either.

A sheepish smile was given as he entered, setting his belongings on the edge of the bed Aya looked curiously at the pile of quote en quote ‘laundry’. There were perfectly good clothes in that pile of ‘ripped’ garments. Die couldn’t be thinking of throwing those out!
“Good. Eventful.”
Going to one of the bedside drawers, Aya riffled through the random riff raff that the club provided for hosts. Apparently Die hadn’t thrown any of it out. Good thing too because Aya found the little repair kit there.
“Pass me some of those and I’ll fix them.” Call it his domestic side kicking in, but at least he’d have something to do while talking to Die. Sitting, Aya winced visibly and gingerly folding his legs to sit cross legged on the bed.

"You don't need to," Die replied yet didn't protest the gesture. Selecting one of his formerly favorite shirts, he tossed it in Aya's direction and continued sorting through the mess of clothing. A lot of it he really didn't plan on keeping anyway. Call it his ever present need for change, something different, new, exciting... Hell, he might want a different hair cut to go with the season. An old leather jacket practically erupted from the mess and he shook it out. Too old and stiff to be any good that he threw it in the growing pile of discarded items and continued on. Glancing up to his neighbor, it seemed his relationship with the younger host could be viewed much the same way. Viewed critically with the choice of keeping or discarding. Logic, desire, whatever else said Aya hadn't meant anything bad, but Die hadn't been that forgiving of a guy. Turning back to his diminishing wardrobe, his fingers found a shirt not worth repairing and threw that to join the jacket.

Ignoring the sentence Aya began his careful placating work of mending his big brother’s clothes. Thin splice of a needle whipping in and out, simply sewing the torn off buttons, the rips and tears. What Die’d been doing in these clothes, Aya simple took a gander at.
“No, I do.”
Having fixed one button up to the best of his abilities, the younger folded it up, and placed the piece at his side. Keeping or discarding were not the only options, mending was door number three.
Reaching for the next shirt Aya considered why Die was avoiding him. That moaning awkward stint had put a kink in their relationship. As much as he hated the man his onii was with, admittedly the man liked him, in a disturbingly romantic sense that Aya had absolutely no comprehension of. Regardless they continuously went around and around in this violent, and if not violent, it was destructive.
“I can’t help myself.” Two buttons down and one awkward silence. “With men.”
16 October 2007 @ 12:57 am
Haven't written for awhile, shame on me. But I do have some news, kinda. I met another student. Surprise, surprise, I know, this place is full of students, duh. Either way, his name was Maya and well, pretty damn cute.
And not like kitty love-bundle cute, but more like cute at every single moment of his being.
Apparently he likes suckers too. Go figure.

In other news, I'm also apparently not the best next door neighbour. Well, either I'm the best or the worst. This only makes sense when you know that I kind of... let my mouth run away on me. With Tackey. And not in the conversational manner.
Shits- I hope he doesn't act weird after this, he's a good friend.

Curses, gotta do some homework.

03 October 2007 @ 10:27 pm
Alrighty so I know I promised Mum that this year I'd be good and not cause a ruckus. No fights, no talking back and all that blah blah blah that parents do. But this year I'd really meant it, I kinda want to do her proud, it doesn't seem to be going so well.

So I went to lunch in the cafeteria, man that place is ginormous! I'd never seen one that huge. At all my other schools kids are packed in and fight like animals for table space, not this place. There seems to be enough room to play multiple soccer games in there!
[sidenote: Remember to join soccer team and that music club.]
Back to lunch, well of course I walk in and its this huge sea of black uniforms punctuated only by the random different dye jobs kids have and then there's me. Me who could only buy the blazer and had to make the rest up. Did I tell you I got detention for that? Asshole...
Anyways, there was one large table at the back with some stoic guy sitting and scribbling at it. I'd noticed he'd looked up once or twice so I went to join him. Making a short story shorter I ended up vaulting the table and kissing the pants off him.
Why? Mostly to push his buttons.
But he was pretty foxy. Either way he wasn't too pleased. I think his name was Gackt.

Eugh, I need a smoke. Toodles.

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30 September 2007 @ 08:17 pm
Right now, right as of this moment there's this dude. Okay, guy (he not much of the 'dude' type) standing in my room. Where he came from? Well, he thought my room was his and demanded me out. I say: "Stuff You!" except not in those words. But that's the general gist.
Anyways, what's he like? I dunno, cute in that kind of teeny-pop-heart-throb way. Either way he probably things I'm nuts, but he's apparently my neighbour.

I hope he's good at math or science... I'll need a lot of help.

PS: I've come to the realization that I really do not have enough money to by buy the required amount of uniforms. Hell, I pretty much have enough to buy a -singular- blazer.

My effing pen is going out, again! Must find more.

27 September 2007 @ 08:17 pm
A converse clad foot shoved a fairly mutilated cardboard box along the stained, grungy concrete ground of the train station. Getting to the school had been a bit of an adventure. A bit was an understatement, but regardless of my tribulations, I had finally made it after receiving the admittance letter and scholarship. Fuck, if I hadn't gotten that free money I'd still be still bloody stuck in that hole.

After humping every last possession I owned (and that's a lot) up to the school (which was a bleeding long way), I had to haggle with the secretary for minutes before getting a dorm key. Apparently arriving into the semester and moving in at a awkward time was frowned upon. But it's not like I care. And I'm not about to catch the 4 AM train, that's just mental.
Fuck. I even fought with the key in the door for ages before barging into my own room. 'Well,' I thought. 'It's better then most places.' And with a shrug I started to unpack.

That's about as far as I've gotten. Ok, well I found that sandwich Mum snuck into my pack and now I'm laying on my floor surrounded in half opened boxes.
It's effing delicious.

Shit my pen's running out.