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rubycity_rp
PLAYER
Name: Alex
Personal Journal: Mikata_Lian
E-mail: namedalex@aol.com
AIM/MSN/etc: namedalex on aim || Replica_Heart on Skype
CHARACTER
Name: Marluxia
Canon: Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories
Timeline: Post Death.
Personality:
Marluxia is a Nobody, a creature that results from when the heart of a strong-willed person is stolen from their body by a Heartless. While the vast majority of Nobodies are simple, animalistic predators, the strongest-willed people leave behind shades of their former selves. The Nobody retains their memories of their past lives, but is stripped of their ability to feel all higher emotion, or to be more precise, empathy. Despite what some of his companions may attempt to disprove, Nobodies do not seem to be able to relate to another being, or to put their happiness or well-being above their own. Or at least, that is what Marluxia chooses to believe. While other Nobodies attempt to live a shade of their former lives through memories and instinctual reactions, all Marluxia wants out of his new “life” is to gain power, to create a facade of complete control, and to control the manner in which people view him. He is a very versatile actor, quickly rolling with whatever happens in a conversation in order to disarm or impress his speaking partner. By default, he appears to be deferential and aloof, giving his companions the space should they need it, forcing them to come to him if they wished to talk. When attempting to impress someone, he spares no expense, choosing his words carefully, speaking in riddles and half-truths that are intended to both mis-direct his target, and make him sound more impressive and in control than he might actually be, as he did to Sora, his target and possessor of a keyblade, a sword that frees hearts trapped within Heartless. He had lured Sora into the castle he was using as his lair, by being intentionally vague about the inhabitants of the castle, which led Sora to believe that his missing friends were inside. To Sora, in the beginning, he was a cipher, a strange, empty creature that came and went as he wished, and always managed to escape Sora’s grasp before all of his questions could be answered. He is, however, not perfect. The more comfortable he becomes with a person, the more his perfect facade cracks. While he is still able to present himself as powerful and somewhat aloof, he finds himself revealing too much of his desire for power. For example, once he discovered the power of the Keyblade, he was, perhaps unknowingly, plotting aloud afterward, absorbed in his own thoughts. Instances of the casual breakdown of his facade ultimately caused the other members of his kind to create a situation where he trapped himself in his own hastily thrown-together scheme and paid for his hubris with his life.
Little is presented in canon regarding his early days with Organization XIII, a collection of Nobodies with matched force of will, all humanoid in form. He was discovered by Xigbar, one of the most powerful and resourceful of their kind, and was brought into the fold as the eleventh member. He was nameless before, his identity having been stripped away with his heart, though not necessarily his memories. Since he was no longer the mortal that he once was, he was christened with a new identity, one that while given to him by Xemnas, the Lord of the Nobodies and the strongest of their kind. The rest of his identity was left up for him to decide upon. Perhaps plagued by his memories of fear guilt, Marluxia simply chose to purge them, along with any memory of kindness or generosity, in favor of serving only himself, because in his mind, this empty shell was all he had left, and thus, had to be made invulnerable to exploitable weakness.
Marluxia is consumed with his own arrogance and self-importance as a result. When stripped of his empathy, it left only himself to think about, and with his inwardly-focused concerns, his true behavior changed to match. When he performs an action, he does it with his audience in mind. His speech, his movements, all tightly controlled, all to appear flowing and effortless, as if power naturally just rolls off of his shoulders in waves. When he enters or exits, draws his weapon, or makes a very important gesture or point, he wills his element, the element of flowers, to come forth, drawing transient, florid magenta petals from the ether, only to let them fade to rot when his attention upon them fades. His moniker within the Organization is “The Graceful Assassin”, and he fancies himself a reaper of sorts. He is fond of wearing the hood of his cloak, part of his Organization uniform, and hides his face until he deems it suitable to expose it. His weapon is a scythe, and while all of his weapons bear floral motifs, diminishing the overt threat of them somewhat, he is more than eager to demonstrate the keen edge for any doubters. Even his mastery over his flowers is a subtle reminder to others that while others could dismiss him as merely in control of plants that smell pretty and are weak to almost all of the other elements that his fellow team members possess. His power is not summoning plants, it is creating them, bending them subject to his will, and killing them off after they have wasted their potential, a cycle of power that he is intending to expand to other things.
Ultimately, his overwhelming sense of self cripples him, and causes him to trap himself into situations of which damage control is impossible. Because he thinks so highly of himself, he displays almost a naivete in regards to others, as well as an impatience when it comes to planning and execution of his ideas. When he plotted to overthrow the Organization, it never occurred to him that his sudden new-found responsibility with ruling over the Castle Oblivion, where he was planning on staging his coup, was perhaps presented to him because his superiors were suspicious of him. Because of that, he never assumed that any of the other Organization members sent with him could have been a plant, bent on foiling his plans, exposing him, and eliminating him for treason. He also never assumed that he could lose control of members placed under his supervision, like Namine, the Nobody who was central to his plan. When she decided to follow her conscience, something that Marluxia himself had discarded as a Nobody, he was realistically powerless to stop her. Since he could not see past his own crippling arrogance, he could not understand her position enough to reason with her, and in the end, his plan was lost, along with his life.
First Person:[There is audio static for a moment, as Marluxia has the habit of putting his fingers over the audio ports, then quickly moving them out of the way after he begins to record and he realizes that he is blocking the sound.]
[He chuckles softly, indulgently as he looks down at the camera from over his nose.]
I must admit, this is quite an interesting little toy. I could only imagine the ways it could be used, once I spend some time toying with its features. I do wonder... if this is the sort of trinket that is handed out to everyone in this place, what kind of technology is being hidden from us, hmm?
[he tosses the device up and down a little, catching it in his palm like it were a ball, uncaring of how the picture would get messed up from being jostled. He catches it camera-down, his palm seeming to snatch it up and consume it in darkness.]
Third Person::
Marluxia growled, almost imperceptibly, using a nick in his canine tooth to create a clean edge for his thread. Of all the things he took for granted as an Organization grunt was how easily damaged coats could be replaced. Now, this torn cloak was his only one, and he had to take care of it. It was sort of silly to want to keep it at all, but even so. He had grown attached to the thick, billowing thing. He felt at home in black. So for now...
Once he got the needle threaded, he carefully plunged the needle into the fabric beside the rip, carefully looping his stitch over and over again in order to keep the thread from fraying through, and letting him avoid actually tying a knot. Uncrossing and crossing his legs again, he all but hunched over his coat, letting the rest of it drape over his thighs and puddle down onto the ground, focused on nothing but making perfect, tiny back-stitched stitches.
Despite the care he took in the repair, and the perfect, even little lines that held the rip in check, he was disgusted. The coat was marred, irrevocably. It was certainly unflattering to look at, even if it was on his side, where his arm normally rested. He knew that he would see it every time he looked down. It would simply be there. He pulled it on anyway, squaring his jaw as the familiar shape draped over his shoulders. He would continue to wear this until it faded to rags if he had to. It wasn’t the clothing that made him who he was, anyway. Even so, he carefully bend forward, testing the stitches, and brushed some dust off of his hem, his fingers gliding ever so gracefully along the cloth.
PLAYER
Name: Alex
Personal Journal: Mikata_Lian
E-mail: namedalex@aol.com
AIM/MSN/etc: namedalex on aim || Replica_Heart on Skype
CHARACTER
Name: Marluxia
Canon: Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories
Timeline: Post Death.
Personality:
Marluxia is a Nobody, a creature that results from when the heart of a strong-willed person is stolen from their body by a Heartless. While the vast majority of Nobodies are simple, animalistic predators, the strongest-willed people leave behind shades of their former selves. The Nobody retains their memories of their past lives, but is stripped of their ability to feel all higher emotion, or to be more precise, empathy. Despite what some of his companions may attempt to disprove, Nobodies do not seem to be able to relate to another being, or to put their happiness or well-being above their own. Or at least, that is what Marluxia chooses to believe. While other Nobodies attempt to live a shade of their former lives through memories and instinctual reactions, all Marluxia wants out of his new “life” is to gain power, to create a facade of complete control, and to control the manner in which people view him. He is a very versatile actor, quickly rolling with whatever happens in a conversation in order to disarm or impress his speaking partner. By default, he appears to be deferential and aloof, giving his companions the space should they need it, forcing them to come to him if they wished to talk. When attempting to impress someone, he spares no expense, choosing his words carefully, speaking in riddles and half-truths that are intended to both mis-direct his target, and make him sound more impressive and in control than he might actually be, as he did to Sora, his target and possessor of a keyblade, a sword that frees hearts trapped within Heartless. He had lured Sora into the castle he was using as his lair, by being intentionally vague about the inhabitants of the castle, which led Sora to believe that his missing friends were inside. To Sora, in the beginning, he was a cipher, a strange, empty creature that came and went as he wished, and always managed to escape Sora’s grasp before all of his questions could be answered. He is, however, not perfect. The more comfortable he becomes with a person, the more his perfect facade cracks. While he is still able to present himself as powerful and somewhat aloof, he finds himself revealing too much of his desire for power. For example, once he discovered the power of the Keyblade, he was, perhaps unknowingly, plotting aloud afterward, absorbed in his own thoughts. Instances of the casual breakdown of his facade ultimately caused the other members of his kind to create a situation where he trapped himself in his own hastily thrown-together scheme and paid for his hubris with his life.
Little is presented in canon regarding his early days with Organization XIII, a collection of Nobodies with matched force of will, all humanoid in form. He was discovered by Xigbar, one of the most powerful and resourceful of their kind, and was brought into the fold as the eleventh member. He was nameless before, his identity having been stripped away with his heart, though not necessarily his memories. Since he was no longer the mortal that he once was, he was christened with a new identity, one that while given to him by Xemnas, the Lord of the Nobodies and the strongest of their kind. The rest of his identity was left up for him to decide upon. Perhaps plagued by his memories of fear guilt, Marluxia simply chose to purge them, along with any memory of kindness or generosity, in favor of serving only himself, because in his mind, this empty shell was all he had left, and thus, had to be made invulnerable to exploitable weakness.
Marluxia is consumed with his own arrogance and self-importance as a result. When stripped of his empathy, it left only himself to think about, and with his inwardly-focused concerns, his true behavior changed to match. When he performs an action, he does it with his audience in mind. His speech, his movements, all tightly controlled, all to appear flowing and effortless, as if power naturally just rolls off of his shoulders in waves. When he enters or exits, draws his weapon, or makes a very important gesture or point, he wills his element, the element of flowers, to come forth, drawing transient, florid magenta petals from the ether, only to let them fade to rot when his attention upon them fades. His moniker within the Organization is “The Graceful Assassin”, and he fancies himself a reaper of sorts. He is fond of wearing the hood of his cloak, part of his Organization uniform, and hides his face until he deems it suitable to expose it. His weapon is a scythe, and while all of his weapons bear floral motifs, diminishing the overt threat of them somewhat, he is more than eager to demonstrate the keen edge for any doubters. Even his mastery over his flowers is a subtle reminder to others that while others could dismiss him as merely in control of plants that smell pretty and are weak to almost all of the other elements that his fellow team members possess. His power is not summoning plants, it is creating them, bending them subject to his will, and killing them off after they have wasted their potential, a cycle of power that he is intending to expand to other things.
Ultimately, his overwhelming sense of self cripples him, and causes him to trap himself into situations of which damage control is impossible. Because he thinks so highly of himself, he displays almost a naivete in regards to others, as well as an impatience when it comes to planning and execution of his ideas. When he plotted to overthrow the Organization, it never occurred to him that his sudden new-found responsibility with ruling over the Castle Oblivion, where he was planning on staging his coup, was perhaps presented to him because his superiors were suspicious of him. Because of that, he never assumed that any of the other Organization members sent with him could have been a plant, bent on foiling his plans, exposing him, and eliminating him for treason. He also never assumed that he could lose control of members placed under his supervision, like Namine, the Nobody who was central to his plan. When she decided to follow her conscience, something that Marluxia himself had discarded as a Nobody, he was realistically powerless to stop her. Since he could not see past his own crippling arrogance, he could not understand her position enough to reason with her, and in the end, his plan was lost, along with his life.
First Person:[There is audio static for a moment, as Marluxia has the habit of putting his fingers over the audio ports, then quickly moving them out of the way after he begins to record and he realizes that he is blocking the sound.]
[He chuckles softly, indulgently as he looks down at the camera from over his nose.]
I must admit, this is quite an interesting little toy. I could only imagine the ways it could be used, once I spend some time toying with its features. I do wonder... if this is the sort of trinket that is handed out to everyone in this place, what kind of technology is being hidden from us, hmm?
[he tosses the device up and down a little, catching it in his palm like it were a ball, uncaring of how the picture would get messed up from being jostled. He catches it camera-down, his palm seeming to snatch it up and consume it in darkness.]
Third Person::
Marluxia growled, almost imperceptibly, using a nick in his canine tooth to create a clean edge for his thread. Of all the things he took for granted as an Organization grunt was how easily damaged coats could be replaced. Now, this torn cloak was his only one, and he had to take care of it. It was sort of silly to want to keep it at all, but even so. He had grown attached to the thick, billowing thing. He felt at home in black. So for now...
Once he got the needle threaded, he carefully plunged the needle into the fabric beside the rip, carefully looping his stitch over and over again in order to keep the thread from fraying through, and letting him avoid actually tying a knot. Uncrossing and crossing his legs again, he all but hunched over his coat, letting the rest of it drape over his thighs and puddle down onto the ground, focused on nothing but making perfect, tiny back-stitched stitches.
Despite the care he took in the repair, and the perfect, even little lines that held the rip in check, he was disgusted. The coat was marred, irrevocably. It was certainly unflattering to look at, even if it was on his side, where his arm normally rested. He knew that he would see it every time he looked down. It would simply be there. He pulled it on anyway, squaring his jaw as the familiar shape draped over his shoulders. He would continue to wear this until it faded to rags if he had to. It wasn’t the clothing that made him who he was, anyway. Even so, he carefully bend forward, testing the stitches, and brushed some dust off of his hem, his fingers gliding ever so gracefully along the cloth.