info
YOUR CHARACTER
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Name: Rude (Teravest)
Gender: Male
Canon Reference: http://finalfantasy.wikia.com/wiki/Rude
ELEVENTOELEVEN
Conception: Normal
Mites: Regular
Politics: Ex-ADAMS-Hated being forced to stand in line, turned mercenary for profit.
Age: 28
History: As a kid, Rude was your typical bruiser. He liked sports, hated class, and he liked to be mean, on occasion. He liked to look at girls, liked to ditch class, liked to light things on fire. As he’d gotten older, he’d liked to get drunk, liked to go to parties, liked to fight, liked to fuck boys and girls occasionally, and liked to wake up face down in a bathtub halfway across town with a monstrous headache. Typical, really.
During his last year of school, his mother committed suicide. It took a lot to get that job done these days, and maybe the memory of it weighed more heavily on Rude than he would ever admit to anyone. Rude joined up for ADAMS as soon as he graduated. No college for him, why bother? He wasn’t interested. He just wanted to use good old fashioned Force and he wanted out of his father’s house. They hadn’t been on good terms since his mother killed herself. Rude reminded the old man too much of his wife.
Rude was never much of a reader until his mother died, but he took to it in order to escape during the hard days that followed and it stayed with him even during basic training. He became a bit of a philosophizer, looking to understand all the bad behavior in this world. He was just like that old saying, still waters run deep. Not that many people acknowledged his intelligence.
Fighting and intimidation were obviously Rude’s mainstays while in the military, but he also excelled in interrogation techniques. He was often relegated to the role of ‘bad cop’. He was the muscle, the intimidation and he was more effective when silent. Rude was all right with that, he didn’t feel the need to be glib anyway. You learned a lot from people if they thought you would never repeat it. However, despite people’s assumptions about him, he picked up a few tricks besides ‘be stone silent and look menacing’.
For nine years Rude played the good little soldier and once he was out on the field, hated every moment of it. He couldn’t stand the bureaucratic bullshit of the military state, couldn’t stand taking orders from idiots who sat at desks all day. He wasn’t sure what else to do though. What could he say; he had a knack for violence. He was a disgruntled first lieutenant by the time he was approached with a job offer from a private entity. Rude met with a representative a few times, certain it was a scam, was too good to be true.
“No,” the rep smiled slyly. “Let me tell you something, Lieutenant. Research and Development is a fancy cover for ‘no rules’.”
Anything was better. Anything at all. Rude resigned his commission with ADAMS when he was 25 years old and didn’t look back.
The New Job: Rude works in the ‘Department of Research and Development’ for a private company. Rude’s job has thus far involved transportation, interrogation, extortion, kidnapping, ‘recruitment’, sabotage, torture, fraud, spying, and assassination.
Personality: Rude is quiet, he thinks before he speaks, won’t speak unless he has something to say, and thinks actions speak louder than words anyway. Rude is down to earth and straight forward. He cherishes a somewhat stoic persona that he hasn’t ever been comfortable enough to let go of with anyone. There is a sense of humor under there though, somewhere. Rude is often darkly facetious with those he meets, sometimes inappropriately so, but he rarely sees any point into letting others see what he's really thinking. Rude is not particularly sentimental, he doesn’t play the dating and relationships game anymore; a few girls burned him early on, he learned quickly. That said, he’s civil company, knows how to ask questions and engage in small talk. But that’s an interrogation skill he learned in training, not a personality trait. He’s definitely… distant from people and relies only on himself. Most can’t make out much about him, since he favors impassive expressions. A diamond-hard poker face combined with his deliberating mind, makes him a mean player to deal with. No one is tougher on Rude than himself. Except maybe the boss.
Notable Difference to Canon: He does not have the Turks. He does not have a team, or family, to soften him. If you want to be his team/family: let us know, we'll do it. &hearts
Appearance: link Rude is 6’7”, has dark skin (about a 26 on VLS) and grey-green eyes: he got those from his mother. He got punched in the left eye in a fight over a girl when he was young. The other guy was wearing a ring and those stupid mites weren’t entirely sure how to fix his eye, leaving it dilated. At least he can still see out of it though. Some people think that’s why he wears the sunglasses all the time, because he’s self-conscious. They’re wrong. The glasses are to intimidate and because sometimes bright or flashing lights hurt to look at, unsurprisingly. Rude no longer really has a uniform, but the boss tells him to look neat, so he’s usually wearing some variation of a suit. He doesn’t have much of a fashion sense anyway and goes with the never fail black slacks and white button up. Sometimes he adds a tie and jacket, sometimes not, depending on how casual he feels. He keeps a minimal amount of facial hair, a pencil mustache connected in a thin line to a short and neat goatee. The bald head is a given, as are the rings in his earlobes, two in the right, and the plethora of studs and rings up his left ear.
What you can't see are the piercings in his cock. The most obvious is the dolphin, decorated with a curved silver barbell. Less obvious is the transdermal ladder of frenum ridges created with silver rings (sometimes called 'orbitals'). They were a bitch to get. The procedure for them was painful and complicated, but they were amazing to fuck with once they healed, so it was worth it. He got the dolphin when he was 21. The ladder he got at 26. He’s got a few more in mind, he’ll get around to them eventually.
Rude never could resist getting a few tattoos; there was just too much room for them not to. He has a dragon tattooed up the entirety of his right calf, a tiger on the left. The four aces are over his heart. His back is completely covered by a huge chimerical demon smiling down hungrily at the snow white geisha in its arms. The beast has black wings, the feathers of which extend up curving over Rude’s left shoulder. The demon has powerful furry legs, hoofed feet, and a scaled snake as its venomous tail. Its hands are taloned, knobby, and almost birdlike. Its teeth are huge, fangs protruding from its mouth. Its eyes are cold, green, reptilian. The woman it holds does not look afraid, her expression is instead laughing, challenging. Her hair is in the elegant style of the geisha, not mussed in the slightest. Small flower charms, cherry blossoms, hang from the pins in her hair. Her kimono is as red as her lips; the fabric is dotted with delicate white flowers. It is loose around her, the golden sash at her waist has been undone, is slipping from her, and her breasts are nearly exposed. Most of her smooth white thigh curves out from the split in the elegant silk. She is barefoot, even the curl of her toes is illustrated and there is blood on the soles of her feet. The smaller tattoos, Rude acquired over time from when he was 18. The large one on his back took several years. The work began when he left ADAMS and he paid for it with the bonuses his new boss gave him.
Rude has his reasons for all the body modification. Part of it is to demonstrate mastery over his body. Every one of his tattoos and piercings involved pain, some more than others but he weathered through them all. His body is also the only thing Rude relies on implicitly, it is his temple, and he will desecrate, decorate, and test its limits as he pleases. While in ADAMS, he was confined to his uniform and he liked the idea of more interesting truths hiding under its black unifying cover. Now that he wears a suit, the sentiment remains. The more extreme modifications are also his quiet rebellion against the military life he left behind, an expression of the freedom his life has now that he can spend his money on such frivolities and still have plenty left over.
SAMPLES
I like persons better than principles and persons with no principles better than anything at all.
Rude took another sip of his drink. It wasn’t brandy. It was gin and tonic, two olives in the bottom. He used the olives to keep track of how many he’d had. He was a big boy, and he’d be at it for a while longer.
He read that line over again. I like persons better than principles and persons with no principles better than anything at all. Yeah, he agreed with that. This wasn’t a world of perfection; this was a world of functionality. As long is it worked, who cared if there were principles behind it or not. Doing things by the book was inefficient, bureaucratic, boring and most importantly naïve.
He turned the page. He wasn’t all that interested in this book. Oh sure, the descriptions of sin and vice were entertaining and Wotton was a leering devil that Rude couldn’t help but admire, but the rest of it was overly opulent, foppish, and that was never something Rude approved of. He took another drink. Then, sighing, he set the book aside and turned to the television for distraction. The news shows were still overrun with complaints of terrorism and propaganda.
Rude turned it off again, immediately. He considered going out, but he scowled and took another drink, a long deep one. He hesitated then, his other hand hovering over his cell phone. Did he want company anyway?
Yes, he decided. He wanted to fuck and then fall asleep and wake up like tonight had never happened. He ordered a blonde, big breasted, and blue-eyed. She showed up after about half an hour, he paid her, had her, saw her on her way again and then passed out.
The boss smirked at him when he came in the next morning, as if he really had the time to watch all of Rude’s cred charges, maybe watching to make sure he was staying the mercenary scum he knew Rude to be.
“We’ve got intel, Rude,” the boss said, though it was obvious from his expression that there was a more, a snide comment about how he’d enjoyed his night. Rude took the intelligence, looked it over, saw code words that he’d deciphered a long time ago. Some minor arms dealers were meeting in the industrial park, and one of them was an officer. They were dealing his company’s stolen merchandise.
Well, Rude thought wickedly, officers could always take a good beating and he was just dying to give one out.
What is your family like? Ma’s dead. Old man wishes I was so he’d stop being reminded of her. We don’t talk.
What do you believe in? Myself.
What happens after you die? You’re dead.
Your guilty pleasure? Brandy.
Your strongest talent? I’m the muscle, haus.
Do you believe in true love? No.
How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings? As honest as I need to be.
Do you like yourself? I’m a little too tall for polite society, but yeah.
What's the quality you most like in a man? Huh… Nothin’ specific. They don’t have anything I haven’t seen in my own shower, if I’m admiring a guy it’s because he’s worth noticing.
What's the quality you most like in a woman? Nice clean skin and hair, can’t stand a skanky bitch.
What turns you on? Those little things people do with their hands when they’re trying to pretend they’re not so horny that they can’t see straight, let alone think.
What turns you off? Screeching, be as noisy as you want, but none of that nails on chalkboard screaming or declarations of love, thanks in advance.
Favorite curse word? Fuck. S’got a broad inflection range.
Last person you kissed? Girl from last night.
How much do you care what others think of you? Any bird who doesn’t like my style can sit in someone else’s lap.
If you died or went missing, who would miss you? People would notice, if that’s what you mean. You die, people notice you’re gone, and then people get over it.