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4 yrs ago
Current "An apology is a promise to do things differently next time, and to keep the promise." - Ging Freecss
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4 yrs ago
“If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration.” ― Nikola Tesla
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4 yrs ago
“I think and think for months and years. Ninety-nine times, the conclusion is false. The hundredth time I am right.” – Albert Einstein
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4 yrs ago
“Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.” ― Rumi
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4 yrs ago
“Stand in the ashes of a trillion dead souls, and asks the ghosts if honor matters. The silence is your answer.” ― Javik
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Partner Digimon: Zubamon
Digimon Lvl: Rookie
Location: Witchelny, Nyttliv
Tag: @Crimson Lion @Shiyonichi @Duthguy


The Throne Room had become a cluster of what he had decided to call “idea vomiting.” Everyone had their own thoughts about which way was better, whose idea was wrong and why, and between all of that was prideful armor that rebutted any chance at being the mistakened.

Phase would rather stay away from that. Unlike the others who had found themselves huddled, he had shied away. Found him a nice sturdy surface to lean against in stoic contemplation. The Forest Zone, Volcanic Zone, Aquatic Zone. None of them sounded especially pleasing. However, Justimon and Beelzemon were potental allies, and strong ones at that.

He could get behind recruiting them.

Gilt stood close by. “We should stick with them. For now at least. Until you regain your strength.”

Phase tilted his head in defeat. He had thought about it last night, about removing himself from the others. “Yea,” was his only reply.

Race: Half-Saiyan/Half-Human
Power Level: 910
Location: Central Capital (CC)
Tagging: @Holy Soldier



Central Capital High looked oppressive to him. It was lit up by the sun but oddly looming and gray. Perhaps it was him distorting it, making it crooked and ugly. Either way, he despised being there. And not just because he got into graceless fights with the students or was constantly antagonized by the faculty for “not caring” . It was more or less all because he couldn’t see himself ever fitting in there.

Taeto vaulted over the walls that ingested the main building and its siblings. He landed with muted pats on the sidewalk, veiled his spiky hair with his hood, and made way for the town. “You can’t expect me to get along with them. It's just impossible.” he mumbled to himself.

His stride became casual the further he got from the school. Soon enough the sounds of construction drummed to life, the low hum of hovercars starting and stopping were quickly overpowered.

All he ever wanted was to fit in somewhere; anywhere, he bargained. But that felt impossible to him. No matter what Mr. Spine said, regardless of his mother’s incorrigible smile; it just felt out of reach. But he would have to endure it, at least until he was allowed to be on his own.

The blaring sounds of the construction site was upon him now, dragging him out his stupor. “Wonder what they’re building?"
@Sudkurve I'm laughing now but I've never heard anything more sweet. The beginning is here and I'm excited for it.





Character Name
Taeto (テート).

Alias
None.

Age
16

Race
Saiyan.

Sub-Race
Half-Saiyan/Half-Human.

Gender
Male.

Occupation
High-School Student.

Height
5'9", Five-Foot Nine.

Weight
130lbs, One-Hundred Thirty Pounds.

Hair Color
Black.

Eye Color
Black with Gold.


Written Appearance
There are many facets of Taeto Flower to look at. The most common being the agitated, rebellious youth. In his black eyes, accented by odd gold dots, lurks confusion and frustration. This angle of him carries a ever-present scowl that makes him near unapproachable. His spiky and disheveled hair does little for his drab fashion sense, which expresses itself in hues of black, brown, and gray. Most notably being his gray hoodie, black loafers, and his brown jacket and trousers. All of this is topped off by a long furry appendage that sprouts from his back-end. When he charges up his Ki, his aura shines a pale blue.

Personality
Taeto drowns in his own confusion everyday. He awakens to the looming threat that he might be snatched from his mother and placed in some prison cell next to his father. Which, to be honest, has created a moody teen. He knows he must stay in control but its maddening to think sympathy and empathy is lost on him. Understanding his Saiyan culture doesn't make it easy to control his aggressive nature, in fact, it only makes the notion absurd. He obsesses with his Saiyan-half, who embraces the fight that his human heritage seemingly shies from. Aside from this, he has found great joy in fighting. The thrill of the battle more than excites, it damn-near incites true glee from him. Which is why he is so enamored with the martial arts world. His mother, though he loves her dearly, insists he stays away and practices the piano, "The soothing, peaceful, piano" she coos. But he's made up his mind, he'll find a master, even if it sets the White Coats upon him.

Background
Parslee was a charismatic low-class Saiyan warrior who was dispatched to the planet Earth on a scouting mission. He believed it to be inhabited by weaklings and after receiving orders to eradicate, traveled to the nearest city and begun its cleansing. However, that all went astray at the first signs of resistance. He had made a fatal mistake; the Earthlings weren't nearly as weak as he had thought. They had robed warriors capable of flight, strong in spirit and mind. Others could blast fire, lightning, and even unknown energy waves at him. A select few controlled the very stars themselves. They were beings who possessed mystical abilities, spells that bound and befuddled him. For weeks after his arrival he had been tortured by their Magi whose spells had deadened his warrior's spirit, made him cooperative.

He remembered her eyes, how gold and liquid they were. How unique and scary, as if he was caught in cross-hairs when she stared at him. She warned him about how he would no longer be himself. That she had gotten permission to observe him intimately but only under the conditions that she stripped him of his aggression. His rage shook his confines but were quelled easily by a wave of her hand. After that, his life had passed like so many pages in a book.

* * * A * * *


Taeto Flower was Parslee's legitimate child. The sedated Saiyan was reduced to your typical prisoner, allowed only three visits a month, and only from Taeto. The Saiyan would often tell stories of Planet Vegeta, of the warrior race that scoured the galaxy and conquered all that resisted them. Parslee believed his kind would find Earth one day. He spoke openly of the beacon he had activated when he landed all those years ago but those words were ignored by the Magi.

Taeto was raised like a human but he hardly acted the part. He was often angry for no reason, aggressive, and combative. His mother, Sun Flower, would warn him of the White Coats. How they would take him away if he couldn't at least pretend to be normal. She would have to settle for rebellious. He went through school never really fitting in, often fighting without a cause, and getting into trouble on the constant. It was inevitable, he would tell himself, cause one day he'd be whisked away to his true home. To Planet Vegeta.

Weapon & Techniques

Weapon
None.

Power Level
960

Techniques
[Saiyan Heart] - Taeto showcases his ferocity or excitement as he endures through his pain for a light duration. (1 turn)
@Spiffy I'll be keeping a near-intimate eye on this. If I ever get a chance, I'll be joining this one.


Location: 8th Ward, Tea Lounge
Tag: @Fathomless @Old Amsterdam



“No, thank you. I become quite cranky without my coffee in the morning.”

Naosada went back to eyeing his reflection in his cup. The tea shop was steadily growing brighter with soft sunlight. Even still, despite the kind beauty in the store, he could feel the lurking darkness of conflict. There was a tension in the air, he thought. Had he accidentally allowed some bloodlust to slip? he doubted it. Perhaps these Doves were on high alert. Was this ward likewise on the verge of war?

He lifted his head purposely, glancing down at his fine clothes. “Oh, these?” he questioned. “These are actually old. Far too old for me remember where I obtained them from.” He looked over his shoulder at the Dove, his warm eyes falling onto the briefcase for a split-moment. “What of you? Are you a businessman who also ran out of coffee at home?”
@Weird Tales I'm picturing him man-handling them like Hisoka from HXH

Partner Digimon: Zubamon
Digimon Lvl: Rookie
Location: Witchelny, Nyttliv
Tag: @Crimson Lion @Shiyonichi @Duthguy


Phase had found his sleeping arrangement lacking, especially considering himself, Gilt, and the other Tamers and Partners would have to sleep in one premade room. It hadn’t taken long to guess at why. Considering that they were brought in a group, it only made sense that they act as a group. That their fates, whether it be good or bad be tied.

He frowned at this but was one of the first to pick a cot and lay down. He pulled his shabby covers over his form, hunched his shoulders, and grew silent. The clanking of Gilt’s armor was something he had grown use to hearing, so when the sound had begun to draw closer, he wasn't shocked to see Gilt.

The Golden Digimon sat down against the wall, his stunted legs stretching out and his arms folded over his armor. Phase stared minutely. “Thanks, Gilt.”

Gilt sunk his chin into his chest and closed his eyes. “Ditto, Phase. Ditto.”

It had taken less than a minute for him to fall into a much-too comfortable sleep.
@Shiyonichi @Crimson Lion I'm down with nightly time-skip. I want a 5 star bedroom lol.

Partner Digimon: Zubamon
Digimon Lvl: Rookie
Location: Witchelny, Nyttliv
Tag: @Crimson Lion @Shiyonichi @Duthguy


Phase felt his vision blur. He remembered the way the Golden Digimon had dodged his gaze, the way his eye shifted downward ever-so faintly. "Gilt, what did you do?"

Liollmon nudged the nosy furball away until it understood the meaning behind it. At first her questions were incessant but eventually she moaned and was led away. Gilt pulled himself up onto the bench, sitting beside Phase and finding his long claws to fiddle with. "I'm not exactly normal, Phase. I was going to tell you, really I was. But as you can see, I don't exactly adhere to normal when danger is around. I didn't forget to... I just didn't care at the moment."

"Tell me now then," Phase mustered through the aching in his back and shoulders.

Gilt released a houseful of tension. "I'am of an exceedingly rare kind. My type or family is called the Legend-Arms." He knotted his claws together forming a hammock of reflection in his golden palms. "Essentially we are weapons and normally I could be used by another Digimon. But you changed that... Think about it like this, when you swing a sword you exert energy in that pursuit. Well, I told you I'am yours. Every attack I make drains you, every mote of damage recoils against your bones if only a little. You are my Tamer and that makes our Bond ironclad... In exchange for that degree of exhaustion, our attacks are all the more stronger."

Phase rolled his shoulder blades, rebelling against the pain. "Which explains why you were capable of hurting that Kuwagamon."

Gilt nodded. "That and being a sword-weapon gives me certain properties."

Phase looked towards the corner of the cafeteria and let out a long sigh.

The Golden Digimon's hammock tighten. "Don't throw me away because of my burden... Please. You're all I know."

Phase smiled, he could hardly see himself living without a few burdens now. His father, his promise to the Digimon and Norn. They were all in some form, in some teensy way worrisome. But Gilt's burden, that was something he would hold without guilt or regret. "Relax, Gilt. You said you were mines. I guess this trade off makes us even. Besides, this is nothing if it means its us saving the others."

Phase and Gilt sat in that comfortable silence again. Liollmon and Nyaromon, who hadn't been too far away were suddenly next to him. The yellow puffball found its spot in his lap, Liollmon was at his feet, providing warmth for his throbbing calf-muscle. Gilt helped keep him rigid, from showing the telltales of aches and pains.

The white-haired Kid asked him a question. Phase disliked the situation, though he knew his mask would hide the pain of the battle, he wasn't so sure his voice wouldn't crack or falter. He swallowed in preparation to speak. "What? you worried about me now? I'm good. Go eat."
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