Lawful Newtral

...

This one catches my eye! Who doesn't love a good superpowered RP? Think I missed the interest check, but I will have a go.

|| T H E M U N D A N E ||

GRACE SANO

_{Location: Sano Residence
Interacting with: M̧o̧͞͡t ̷́͘h͢e͟͢r̶?̡̀͝?͟ ҉F͞at͡h̵̢ e̴r̡̀͡?̢͏}

---

---

Ever since the Barracuda Virus forcibly vacated her home of all life but her own, Grace had avoided sleeping in bed like a normal person in place of passing out on a blanket she spread on the floor of her room. For her part, there was never a particular reason for this; she simply no longer felt comfortable laying on the bed she slept, studied, and cried in for God knows how long. In truth, a great many things that her parents had bought to fill up their home had since become eyesores for Grace, painful reminders of a time that once had been and never would be. This perhaps explained why she chose to auction most of such things, resulting in a relatively empty penthouse. Spacious, lavish, yet unwelcoming. Cold.

Inside and out, hollow was the existence of Grace Sano.

Waking up in shambles, she looked at the clock-did waking up on time even matter to her anymore?-and drudged towards the bathroom. Her image upon the mirror was the next thing she laid eyes on. Grace looked at a naked miserable mess of a woman. Her bleached blonde hair was all over the place. A face of pure contempt reflected on the mirror, contempt at the weak mind that let her fall into such disarray. Sighing, she opened the door to the shower and walked in, turning on the water. These were one of the few pleasures she allowed herself to indulge.

Her body ready for reality, Grace exited the bathroom and went to find clothes for herself. She picked out a white sweater splattered with paint (it was plain white when she had bought it) and a pastel pink skirt. Her footwear would be nothing more than pink slippers, the bunny-eared variant. Simple yet undeniably cute, just the way she liked it. The routine called for more painting until noon further approached, but Grace had a bad feeling about today, and when she made way to the easel, she could clearly see why. Where there once had been a painting of the New York skyline now stood an abstract jumble of red and purple.

Stranger still, it moved.

Shimmering and twisting like an unnatural kaleidoscope, her eyes grew dizzy the more she attempted to make sense of it, but just as she brought herself to look away, the chaos gave way to two distinct shapes. Clearly human silhouettes, one male and the other female. At first, they were no more indiscernible than the chaos before them, but soon enough, Grace's eyes would widen in horror at what they showed themselves to be: images of her deceased parents.

The fact that she did not recoil and fall surprised her, but that also meant that she was still subject to this nightmarish...vision. There was absolutely no way this was real. She must still be dreaming, but then what was that shower...? Everything else before this felt as real as life can be...

So caught in her thoughts was Grace that she didn't realize that the images had become closer in the canvas, their unnaturally haggard faces now for her to see in much greater clarity, not that she ever asked for it. They reminded her of the notoriously morbid Black Paintings of Francisco Goya, imagery that invoked dread and sorrow. Except the fact that these images moved and appeared on their own invoked fear much more than anything else. The eldritch painting continued to shift and turn, now words forming above the heads of her parents, words Grace thought she had left behind when they were buried. "You failed us." "Worthless child." "Dead girl walking." The more she looked at the twisted letters, the worse the message they conveyed until finally they became but two words.

"Join us."

At once, Grace felt a gripping sensation on her left wrist. Furthering the nightmare, the gruesome image of what was supposed to be her mother escaped the realm of the canvas and reached out for her daughter. The line between imagery and reality began to blur in her frantic eyes and desperately, she grabbed one of the larger paintbrushes sitting in a can of red paint and slashed at the canvas like she was holding a sword. And then she swiped again. And again. And again until she could see nothing of her parents in that accursed canvas. By her own hand, Grace had returned to safe, grim reality, the eldritch painting nowhere to be found. It did, however, leave behind a better work than what she had left at night, the colors blending better for a more pleasing controlled chaos of paint.

Sadly, Grace was too shaken to appreciate what was in front of her, her heartbeat racing and panic still brewing in her mind. Finally, she fell and gripped at her hair as she confronted the gravity of what just happened. She was hallucinating. Her psyche was taking turn after turn for the worse. She had thought that she could be a better person when left to her own devices and now look at her. A daydreaming madwoman with no income and no relations. She screamed, but if a girl screamed and not a soul was around to hear it...

Did she ever make a sound?

|| T H E M U N D A N E ||

Grace Sano

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

^{“...woof...”}

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

✶ BASICS ✶^_-

---

full name / nickname(s)

Grace Rosé Sano

gender / sexuality

female / homosexual

age / grade level

eighteen / eleventh grade

occupation

unemployed

physical appearance

Grace is an astoundingly beautiful young Asian woman with a slender, rather undeveloped physique that gets buried under her clothing for the most part. A natural blonde, she is a fan of dyeing her hair all sorts of vibrant colors, settling back an old-school silver blonde before the virus. Some of her peers might remember her brief red hair stint. Peeking out of her long hair are fluffy blonde dog ears, something she tries hard to hide with beanies, scarves and the like. Grace has elegant bronze eyes with prominent dark circles under them due to multiple instances of sleep deprivation, an oval-shaped face permanently fixated with a near-emotionless visage, and clear fair skin, all good hints that she doesn't get out much aside from camp. Her choice of outfits center around the absolutely aesthetic; trendy brand clothing with pastel colors all around, baby. Grace isn't a fan of pants and prefers long skirts instead.

---

^_-✶ IN DEPTH ✶

---

personality

Before the virus, Grace was a shy, introverted deaf girl that grew up in an affluent yet broken home. This made her bloom into a spiteful recluse, never content with the world she can't hear. Deep down she means well, but it is buried deep under a facade of aloofness. After the virus, she's grown out of that shell, no doubt a side effect of grief. In being shown kindness in the wake of disaster, Grace regains faith and is all the better because of it.

Oh, and she's no longer deaf and that's great. She loves the sound of her own voice, but it rings just loud enough to be a nuisance in her hypersensitive ears so she tries to keep silent like always.

superpower

canine physiology

Grace has been gifted with the admittedly awesome power of possessing physical and instinctual characteristics of a wolf.
This includes, but are presumably not limited to: greatly enhanced senses of smell, sight and yes, hearing (such that she's able to hear better than the normal human), increased stamina, sharpened nails and teeth, and fine-tuned predatory instincts. Like a wolf, she can detect individuals that are sick, which is intended to know which prey is easy prey. With her newfound hearing, she now has a better sense of balance as well.

Even if she looks like a wolf, however, Grace is far from big and bad. Her undeveloped physique has not changed in the slightest and coupled with her general lack of athletic capabilities, she won't be hunting down criminals any time soon. Most dangerous to her right now is the threat of sensory overload. This is New York we're talking about, busiest hellhole in the world. She's not even used to hearing and she's now tuning in to a thousand footsteps and a hundred conversations every time she even gets near school or, God forbid, Main Street. Grace also needs to consume much more food than she is used to in order to sustain her supernatural physiology.

backstory

Born prematurely in a roadside clinic in upstate New York during a road trip, Grace is the daughter of a wealthy couple of young entrepreneurs. She was born deaf and this was always a point of contention, if not for herself, then for her parents. She was cared for well enough, quickly picked up an affinity for the arts after getting her hands on a can of paint during a visit to her parent's friend's house. Her parents did not have the greatest of relationships and oftentimes she was caught in the middle of it. It was their minefield to die on, but Grace took all of the debris.

Out of convenience considering her weak physique, Grace went to school at Midwood High (and previously other schools of similar proximity to her penthouse home). It was a comparative sanctum compared to "home sweet home". She didn't bother anyone, she studied well, delved into her untapped passion of arts and crafts, and people saw her as too unapproachable and emo so she was never bothered by anyone. School was good, but good didn't last. The Barracuda virus came and went, reaping a trail of bodies upon New York. Many of the sparing few friends Grace had fell victim to it.

So did her parents.

Grace was conflicted. On one hand, fuck them and their unending mutual abuse. But on the other hand, they were her parents. For better or worse, they cared for her as best they could. And now her only long-lasting human relationship was gone and she was left alone. Since her parents died without wills, she inherits everything they had according to New York's intestacy statute. This left her with a big ass penthouse and only herself to share it with. The virus also brought a strange case to Grace. One morning, she looked in the bathroom mirror and saw fucking dog ears peeking out of her hair. She screamed in instinctual panic and she could hear it. She couldn't believe it at all. Not only was she no longer deaf, she was a fucking werewolf. Top of the power tiers in terms of coolness, to be sure.

---

✶ THE SURFACE ✶^_-

---

extracurricular activities

Grace is a painter, she paints. Other than that, she likes to watch the latest shows on Netflix.

supporting cast

Genevieve Sano née Menzel | Deceased
Ichiro Sano | Deceased

other

_{"Take me away....S H O U T"}

---

|| T H E M U N D A N E ||

This took a while. Backstory might be subject to revisions, but what I wrote is just the gist of it.

Grace Sano

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

Grace

^{“...woof...”}

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

✶ BASICS ✶^_-

---

full name / nickname(s)

Grace Rosé Sano

gender / sexuality

female / homosexual

age / grade level

eighteen / eleventh grade

occupation

unemployed

physical appearance

Grace is an astoundingly beautiful young Asian woman with a slender, rather undeveloped physique that gets buried under her clothing for the most part. A natural blonde, she is a fan of dyeing her hair all sorts of vibrant colors, settling back an old-school silver blonde before the virus. Some of her peers might remember her brief red hair stint. Peeking out of her long hair are fluffy blonde dog ears, something she tries hard to hide with beanies, scarves and the like. Grace has elegant bronze eyes with prominent dark circles under them due to multiple instances of sleep deprivation, an oval-shaped face permanently fixated with a near-emotionless visage, and clear fair skin, all good hints that she doesn't get out much aside from camp. Her choice of outfits center around the absolutely aesthetic; trendy brand clothing with pastel colors all around, baby. Grace isn't a fan of pants and prefers long skirts instead.

---

^_-✶ IN DEPTH ✶

---

personality

Before the virus, Grace was a shy, introverted deaf girl that grew up in an affluent yet broken home. This made her bloom into a spiteful recluse, never content with the world she can't hear. Deep down she means well, but it is buried deep under a facade of aloofness. After the virus, she's grown out of that shell, no doubt a side effect of grief. In being shown kindness in the wake of disaster, Grace regains faith and is all the better because of it.

Oh, and she's no longer deaf and that's great. She loves the sound of her own voice, but it rings just loud enough to be a nuisance in her hypersensitive ears so she tries to keep silent like always.

superpower

canine physiology

Grace has been gifted with the admittedly awesome power of possessing physical and instinctual characteristics of a wolf.
This includes, but are presumably not limited to: greatly enhanced senses of smell, sight and yes, hearing (such that she's able to hear better than the normal human), increased stamina, sharpened nails and teeth, and fine-tuned predatory instincts. Like a wolf, she can detect individuals that are sick, which is intended to know which prey is easy prey. With her newfound hearing, she now has a better sense of balance as well.

Even if she looks like a wolf, however, Grace is far from big and bad. Her undeveloped physique has not changed in the slightest and coupled with her general lack of athletic capabilities, she won't be hunting down criminals any time soon. Most dangerous to her right now is the threat of sensory overload. This is New York we're talking about, busiest hellhole in the world. She's not even used to hearing and she's now tuning in to a thousand footsteps and a hundred conversations every time she even gets near school or, God forbid, Main Street. Grace also needs to consume much more food than she is used to in order to sustain her supernatural physiology.

backstory

Born prematurely in a roadside clinic in upstate New York during a road trip, Grace is the daughter of a wealthy couple of young entrepreneurs. She was born deaf and this was always a point of contention, if not for herself, then for her parents. She was cared for well enough, quickly picked up an affinity for the arts after getting her hands on a can of paint during a visit to her parent's friend's house. Her parents did not have the greatest of relationships and oftentimes she was caught in the middle of it. It was their minefield to die on, but Grace took all of the debris.

Out of convenience considering her weak physique, Grace went to school at Midwood High (and previously other schools of similar proximity to her penthouse home). It was a comparative sanctum compared to "home sweet home". She didn't bother anyone, she studied well, delved into her untapped passion of arts and crafts, and people saw her as too unapproachable and emo so she was never bothered by anyone. School was good, but good didn't last. The Barracuda virus came and went, reaping a trail of bodies upon New York. Many of the sparing few friends Grace had fell victim to it.

So did her parents.

Grace was conflicted. On one hand, fuck them and their unending mutual abuse. But on the other hand, they were her parents. For better or worse, they cared for her as best they could. And now her only long-lasting human relationship was gone and she was left alone. Since her parents died without wills, she inherits everything they had according to New York's intestacy statute. This left her with a big ass penthouse and only herself to share it with. The virus also brought a strange case to Grace. One morning, she looked in the bathroom mirror and saw fucking dog ears peeking out of her hair. She screamed in instinctual panic and she could hear it. She couldn't believe it at all. Not only was she no longer deaf, she was a fucking werewolf. Top of the power tiers in terms of coolness, to be sure.

---

✶ THE SURFACE ✶^_-

---

extracurricular activities

Grace is a painter, she paints. Other than that, she likes to watch the latest shows on Netflix.

supporting cast

Genevieve Sano née Menzel | Deceased
Ichiro Sano | Deceased

other

_{"Take me away....S H O U T"}

---

ǁ T H E M U N D A N E ǁ

Oho, the name takes me back. I'd be fine with a superhero-ish RP to celebrate my return here.

Torn Realms (High-Fantasy) (Mid-High Casual) [ALWAYS OPEN]

I've returned! Alive! Unbelievable!

Torn Realms (High-Fantasy) (Mid-High Casual) [ALWAYS OPEN]

Hey, guys. Gonna have to say that I have some family business out of town and will not be as active for a good four days. It's not that long an absence! So have lots of fun without me!

The Leviathan (Treasure Planet Fandom Roleplay)

Diaemus Fyrell

Name: Diaemus Fyrell

Role: Historian, Loremaster

Age: Unknown, most likely around 1900 + the 36 years of his life before death. The Necroses are immortal.

Gender: Male

Race: Necrosis (Any biomechanically resurrected life-form. In essence, a cyborg zombie.)

Appearance
A grotesque man whose very presence exudes fear or at least disgust, Diaemus is a man resurrected through unnatural scientific means and it is apparent. Standing at a respectable 6'3" (though often hunching over), he retains the muscular build he presumably had in life, but his cracked skin is deathly green and pale like a victim of a N'Qari Deathbringer's venom. Whatever hair he had in life was lost and many of his extremities have been fitted or outright replaced by mechanical prostheses. Notably on his back is a mechanism attached to his spine. This is what sustains his body, constantly producing and pumping in a chemical known as n-0-x (Nox) into his system.

Diaemus rarely wears anything to cover his upper body, only opting for a pair of black trousers, the same pair he has been wearing for his entire (un)life. But it is fine since Necroses do not have bodily functions and cannot produce waste and thus, do not have the body odor of which is expected from a normal person. He has trouble walking (and standing up straight), so you might find him carrying around a staff with green gemstones on its tip, almost the same height as him.

Personality
There are few people that can claim to know the man known as Diaemus well. A mysterious and impersonal figure, he is first and foremost a seeker of knowledge. He has a deep-set drive to learn all the secrets this humble galaxy has to offer and with his functional immortality, that may well be possible. To that end he is willing to do most anything, explaining why he is on board with a crew of space pirates and not, say, sanctioned privateers. He does not shy away from conversations and is surprisingly good company. Centuries of (un)life has not dulled his human need for socialization. He does have a tendency towards patronizing and pessimism, but never to the point of discomforting others. Diaemus's main social skill is knowing how not to piss off people.

The memory of a man almost two millennia old is not to be underestimated. Diaemus is well versed in the lore of several systems in the galaxy. He has witnessed rises and falls of civilization, the first steps of evolution, war and peace. To witness such things in a lifetime would surely make one uncaring and jaded, but he retains what most others have already forsaken: spirit and humanity. In an ever-growing universe where it is easy to be apathetic, Diaemus is hell-bent on keeping legacies remembered, even if by just one memory.

Biography
Diaemus Fyrell was once a humble student from the Lexicon Sector, the renowned 'School Worlds' for the entire system and its planets was a hub of knowledge; one gargantuan university. He was born there, like his parents, and inevitably studied there, like his parents, studying the noble art of technomancy. One day, he was given the task of delving the ruins of an abandoned civilization in one of the planets in a nearby system. He and a dozen other students traveled to said planet, but once there were ambushed by Body-Snatchers, slavers feared as bogeymen. Half of the group died defending their freedom and the rest were chained up to be sold to the highest bidder. Diaemus was among those who died, taken before his time at the age of 36.

But that apparently was not the end for him as in the ruins resided something that resembled the mythical 'witch'. With her unholy techno-magic, she resurrected the mangled corpse of Diaemus Fyrell, turning him into a Necrosis, the cyborg undead. Though he was not happy with his new form, it was at least comforting to know that he was alive once again. In gratitude, he swore allegiance to the woman that resurrected him and together they traveled the galaxy, in search of knowledge wherever it may be. It was...funny, really. He owed his unlife to her and yet he spent his years of servitude without knowing her name. She never cared enough to tell him and he in turn never felt the dire need to ask her. Thus he was forced to refer to her (at least mentally) with the ancient Lexiconi word for 'name': Non.

Non and Diaemus went through a lot together, often times having to save each other's lives, but as a Necrosis, he would of course outlive his ward. He continued to travel solo, however, because for one, what else was he to do? Undeath was both a blessing and a curse. But a thousand years of exploration and the hopes of a thousand years more turned out to be the one thing he never knew he desired. To witness history unfold and survive through it was nothing short of perfection. Everything major that he was a witness of, he recorded it into his personal archives, the E.D.D.A. [Exegetic Direct Documentation Archive]. And no facet of history intrigued him more than the Treasure Trove of Captain Nathaniel Flint. Diaemus knew, better than most others, that it existed. The evidence pointing towards it was just there, but 'where' remained a mystery. While he had little use for riches, Non would have been overjoyed to know that her creation managed to find what none others failed to find.

So what Diaemus ended up doing was hopping between crew after crew that desired Flint's Treasure as well. As expected, none succeeded, with most ending prematurely as blaster fodder. The undead man, however, remained a clairvoyant when it came to danger, always slipping away to safety when things looked grim and then going on to try with another crew. With the Leviathan and Captain Lemaire's crew, this makes it his 67th attempt.

Misc.
Diaemus is fluent in basically every language that mattered, making him a prime translator. He's also working on a glamour device that would conceal his hideous form, but a tinkerer he is not. If the crew engineer was willing to help, that would be marvelous.

Does he think Treasure Planet exists?
Most definitely. He has no use for riches, but it is naive to think that such a notorious and proliferous crew wouldn't keep records of what they've achieved. Such records would look great in his E.D.D.A.

Relationships
To be discussed.

The Leviathan (Treasure Planet Fandom Roleplay)

He's amazing, but I wouldn't expect any less from you. :P

@Emuxe

Aww, thank you! That's nicest thing anyone has ever said about my characters

The Leviathan (Treasure Planet Fandom Roleplay)

So...here he is. Alien Nico Robin.

Hider

Name: Diaemus Fyrell

Role: Historian, Loremaster

Age: Unknown, most likely around 1900 + the 36 years of his life before death. The Necroses are immortal.

Gender: Male

Race: Necrosis (Any biomechanically resurrected life-form. In essence, a cyborg zombie.)

Appearance
A grotesque man whose very presence exudes fear or at least disgust, Diaemus is a man resurrected through unnatural scientific means and it is apparent. Standing at a respectable 6'3" (though often hunching over), he retains the muscular build he presumably had in life, but his cracked skin is deathly green and pale like a victim of a N'Qari Deathbringer's venom. Whatever hair he had in life was lost and many of his extremities have been fitted or outright replaced by mechanical prostheses. Notably on his back is a mechanism attached to his spine. This is what sustains his body, constantly producing and pumping in a chemical known as n-0-x (Nox) into his system.

Diaemus rarely wears anything to cover his upper body, only opting for a pair of black trousers, the same pair he has been wearing for his entire (un)life. But it is fine since Necroses do not have bodily functions and cannot produce waste and thus, do not have the body odor of which is expected from a normal person. He has trouble walking (and standing up straight), so you might find him carrying around a staff with green gemstones on its tip, almost the same height as him.

Personality
There are few people that can claim to know the man known as Diaemus well. A mysterious and impersonal figure, he is first and foremost a seeker of knowledge. He has a deep-set drive to learn all the secrets this humble galaxy has to offer and with his functional immortality, that may well be possible. To that end he is willing to do most anything, explaining why he is on board with a crew of space pirates and not, say, sanctioned privateers. He does not shy away from conversations and is surprisingly good company. Centuries of (un)life has not dulled his human need for socialization. He does have a tendency towards patronizing and pessimism, but never to the point of discomforting others. Diaemus's main social skill is knowing how not to piss off people.

The memory of a man almost two millennia old is not to be underestimated. Diaemus is well versed in the lore of several systems in the galaxy. He has witnessed rises and falls of civilization, the first steps of evolution, war and peace. To witness such things in a lifetime would surely make one uncaring and jaded, but he retains what most others have already forsaken: spirit and humanity. In an ever-growing universe where it is easy to be apathetic, Diaemus is hell-bent on keeping legacies remembered, even if by just one memory.

Biography
Diaemus Fyrell was once a humble student from the Lexicon Sector, the renowned 'School Worlds' for the entire system and its planets was a hub of knowledge; one gargantuan university. He was born there, like his parents, and inevitably studied there, like his parents, studying the noble art of technomancy. One day, he was given the task of delving the ruins of an abandoned civilization in one of the planets in a nearby system. He and a dozen other students traveled to said planet, but once there were ambushed by Body-Snatchers, slavers feared as bogeymen. Half of the group died defending their freedom and the rest were chained up to be sold to the highest bidder. Diaemus was among those who died, taken before his time at the age of 36.

But that apparently was not the end for him as in the ruins resided something that resembled the mythical 'witch'. With her unholy techno-magic, she resurrected the mangled corpse of Diaemus Fyrell, turning him into a Necrosis, the cyborg undead. Though he was not happy with his new form, it was at least comforting to know that he was alive once again. In gratitude, he swore allegiance to the woman that resurrected him and together they traveled the galaxy, in search of knowledge wherever it may be. It was...funny, really. He owed his unlife to her and yet he spent his years of servitude without knowing her name. She never cared enough to tell him and he in turn never felt the dire need to ask her. Thus he was forced to refer to her (at least mentally) with the ancient Lexiconi word for 'name': Non.

Non and Diaemus went through a lot together, often times having to save each other's lives, but as a Necrosis, he would of course outlive his ward. He continued to travel solo, however, because for one, what else was he to do? Undeath was both a blessing and a curse. But a thousand years of exploration and the hopes of a thousand years more turned out to be the one thing he never knew he desired. To witness history unfold and survive through it was nothing short of perfection. Everything major that he was a witness of, he recorded it into his personal archives, the E.D.D.A. [Exegetic Direct Documentation Archive]. And no facet of history intrigued him more than the Treasure Trove of Captain Nathaniel Flint. Diaemus knew, better than most others, that it existed. The evidence pointing towards it was just there, but 'where' remained a mystery. While he had little use for riches, Non would have been overjoyed to know that her creation managed to find what none others failed to find.

So what Diaemus ended up doing was hopping between crew after crew that desired Flint's Treasure as well. As expected, none succeeded, with most ending prematurely as blaster fodder. The undead man, however, remained a clairvoyant when it came to danger, always slipping away to safety when things looked grim and then going on to try with another crew. With the Leviathan and Captain Lemaire's crew, this makes it his 67th attempt.

Misc.
Diaemus is fluent in basically every language that mattered, making him a prime translator. He's also working on a glamour device that would conceal his hideous form, but a tinkerer he is not. If the crew engineer was willing to help, that would be marvelous.

Does he think Treasure Planet exists?
Most definitely. He has no use for riches, but it is naive to think that such a notorious and proliferous crew wouldn't keep records of what they've achieved. Such records would look great in his E.D.D.A.

Relationships
To be discussed.