(no subject)
Player Name: Tony
Player LJ: venomized
Player Instant Messenger Type and Handle: AIM: xitalianmenacex or bananareptile
Player Email:reno[dot]cicilia[at]gmail[dot]com
Player is over 16 years of age, Y/N? (You must be over sixteen for Fire due to adult themes, horror, and the like) Yes
Character: Midvalley the Hornfreak
Fandom: Trigun
Personality: Midvalley is a withdrawn sort of man; with a look of plain sorrow upon his face at all times, he's a hard one to read. Mostly, he keeps to himself - but he's a very inner monologue kind of guy that toys with thoughts of regret. He's a man that quietly builds up his anger, but keeps a mostly tampered tongue. Mostly. He has had outbursts of straight anger, though those are far and in between.
Midvalley is the sultry sort of man that eyes death with a sort of disconnect. He kills because he has to and the act of pulling a trigger, either with an actual gun or using his saxophone, has become a numb sort of act for the Hornfreak. While he's got his regrets, he doesn't much have remorse for those he kills.
The Jazz Man also comes from a very dark place; his mind is very calm and collected, but he fears those of the inhuman category - he has seen what those outside the human race can do and he feels more tense around people with odd abilities. While he is unique himself, he still remains human and very aware of his own mortality in a way.
Like all other jazz stereotypes before him. Midvalley's kind of a swinger man. While he doesn't really sleep around or anything, he does seem to embody that sort of 1920s culture - he's a drinker and he's a snazzy dresser. He's all about blues and jazz and about keeping his "cool." Like a smooth criminal, he'll slide into a life like a chaser and leave behind a mess of a bad hangover the next morning.
History (can be a link to website with a description of the history. Also, detail to use at what point of canon history you are taking them from): Here; after he's killed in Trigun Maximum.
A link to an image of the character (preferred, not necessary/icons are okay): It's fanart. (c) ARAYASHIKI. Here.
Sample log entry (250 words minimum): Bending down, the Jazz Man sighed and pushed aside a limp corpse with the toe of his shoe. What a bloody mess; he hadn't been here two seconds and, already, something was trying to kill him. It was odd, really, how easily he pulled the trigger though - mortality rested at the end of the barrel these days.
It was concept Midvalley the Hornfreak knew all too well.
The Master of Sound stood and noted the blood that was beginning to pool in the street - there was no Heaven and no Hell, so he couldn't exactly comprehend the fact that he was now living. Flesh and blood, solid as the Devil himself. He smiled sourly, violet eyes rolling shut. A fate worse than death was to keep living in the hands of tyranny.
Midvalley opened his eyes again and looked back down. The corpse, he noted, had already begun to rot prior to the execution. Any sort of rational thought would have screamed that that shouldn't have been. But there it was, as plain as the god damn day. The jazz man tilted his head and his smile faded - he had heard about Hell being the land of the dead. Still, he wasn't quite sold on the idea.
If this was Hell, than all concepts written by mankind prior were false. And his whole notion of the afterlife had been a false one. And if Midvalley didn't like one thing, he didn't like being wrong.
But according to evidence acquired prior, Hell didn't allow pleasures of the flesh. And resting just next to him was his very own saxophone - on top of it a gun had conveniently placed itself into the hem of his white slacks - not that it had many bullet to spare, but both instruments of death were still there, still very much real and ready to be used at any time. And rule number one of Hell was suffering. Didn't suffering mean the absence of those comforts from life?
And there was one other thing Midvalley was having trouble understanding. Hell had a lot of rules, but there was an important rule that followed the first, Rule number two was the presence of a raging inferno.
Midvalley extended his hand into the air, felt the mild temperature graze his palm, and scoffed. Not the cleansing Hell Fires he had read about. A look of discontent crossed the Player's face and he lowered his hand. So what was it? Certainly not Gunsmoke, certainly not his own personal brand of Hell that he hailed from. It was just a dismal world with cracked streets and crumbling buildings.
Maybe it was his own mind? Midvalley smiled at the thought - the decay before the eternal darkness. How fitting, in an oddly poetic way. But could it really be that simple? Considering all the factors that had brought him to his end, the Jazz Man couldn't quite feel content with this being it. It wasn't the climax he had been expecting - not the crescendo of his life's trials and tribulations as it were. It just empty, blank and deteriorating with every second. The smell of copper and metal were pungent and thick - nothing like he expected. Of course, he didn't think there would be angels singing and flowers blooming in the wake of his death, but he figured there would be more. Not this; not this half-finished score at the end of the day.
Sample journal entry (Six sentence minimum): Not exactly the end I thought it would be. But I guess it really isn't an end, is it? If this thing's correct, I guess I'm neither alive or dead. Well, more alive than anything, considering I'm breathing and I've got a heart beat.
Not the ending I suspected; the Devil's got his cards mixed, I think.