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Messages - Yuusuke Saito

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Elsewhere Accepted / yuusuke saito
« on: 05/12/2016 at 07:52 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Yuusuke Saito.
Gender: Male.
Age: Twenty-nine.
Blood Status: Pureblood.

Mahoutokoro (1931–1938).

Knockturn Alley

Inari’s henchman Smuggler

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?

Requested Magic Levels:
Adult characters have 32 starting levels to distribute across these four categories (less levels can be used if you so desire, but no more than 32). The number of levels on the lowest ability must be at least half of the highest ability.

If you want levels above the usual 32 total, or a significantly uneven distribution of starting levels, please fill out and submit the Special Request form here.

  • Charms: 9.
  • Divination: 7.
  • Transfiguration: 9.
  • Summoning: 7.
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Rin Hunter et al.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Straight-laced Yuusuke in all his marmoreal perfection was his parents’ pride and joy. Pure and with purpose he would flourish up to adulthood. His school years were spent with charisma-charmed friends and attaining whatever was beyond reach, in return he was granted with whatever he desired (so long as he’d earned it, it was his).

But he grew weary with perfection and Yuusuke slowly grew to loathe the parents who had crafted, not nurtured, him into the man he’d become—a son they could display with pride and rightful heir. With a venom-lit heart to guide him and the certainty of replacement that would follow his absence, Yuusuke left behind a life and the patronymic that’d nailed him to it.

Yuusuke Saito was born and raised in Nagasaki; a halfblood who’d graduated with decent grades. There was nothing spectacular about his history, it had been devised with the intention of subtlety. He spoke to his neighbours, but never made anything more than acquaintances. Anyone could tell you Yuusuke Saito was the man who lived by the fishing store, but if asked who he was you’d be met with an empty silence.

Nothing more than a ghost, it was the underside of Nagasaki that drew him from the four walls of his house.

Though the veil over his eyes was long tattered and discarded, it had been present for the first eighteen years of his life and the sordid underworld he walked in filled his lungs with ice-water. Skirting along the bourn of sin Yuusuke spent the next few years a spectator, treading across the line only to take five steps back again.

Until he found himself drawn in.

Märchen stood out in hushed conversations, foreign and enigmatic; he would later discover it was not a word but a name, and the man who stood behind it was just as uncanny. Inari was a riddle he had no intentions of solving—to unravel a man blacker than the realm he seemed to blossom in was a plea for ruination. Yet he stayed, found home within ranks of miscreants and rooted himself in a world antithetical to the one of his origin.

A changed man he may have been his talent never left him, Yuusuke thrived and rose in the hierarchy towards the regard he’d never known he’d needed. Inari favoured him and though peril-promises clung to him as his feigned charm and flawless lies did, it was far too late to return to a lawful life. Yuusuke stuck by his side, bound by loyalty and the knowledge that there was nowhere else left for him.

When Inari left for England there was no choice but to follow (quite literally, the man had insisted he come along). Though the language had already been mastered Yuusuke both disagreed with his reasoning and had been reluctant to abandon what had been his home for years.

(But he’d done it before, what different would a second time make?)

Yuusuke Saito was a lost man, and that became even more so when he was dragged onto foreign soil, but not once did he miss the suffocating life he’d left behind.

You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:

Option One -
Amelia Nixon was many things, but she was never a pushover reporter that people could just usher away with a busy shuffle past. She was dedicated and eager to cut to the very middle of the current political tensions because she was Amelia Nixon and her articles would most certainly become front page material.

“Sir, please! It’s for the Prophet, how do you feel-“

Another one brushed passed her, the shuffling busy masses making their way through Diagon Alley for the lunchtime rush. This had been the best possible time to get people, but none of them were giving her anything to go with.

Only momentarily discouraged, the short red headed lady took a seat on a nearby bench. Her quill resting in her left hand and her notepad ready in the opposite hand. Amelia pouted, tapping the quill against her leg as she scanned the waves of people for somebody - anybody - who looked like they had something to say.

She had been dreaming of her name in bold print, Amelia Nixon: The Source of Today’s Tomorrow. She had been dreaming of the larger office and the secretaries that would fetch her the morning coffee and fetch her anything she needed. The VIP interviews and the most exclusive press passes. But all Amelia had was a page seventeen piece on the rising number of frogs in London.

Hardened by a day of no success, the reporter stood up and started to trod off down the alley. A loose stone on the cobble path caught her heel, sending the distraught girl toppling down to the ground.

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!” she yelled as she tried desperately to recover her shoe frantically in the middle of the Diagon Alley moving crowds.

Roleplay Response:
The clear sky overhead was a false promise for warmth. The sun was seen but not felt, and with a sharp sigh of irritation Yuusuke tugged his scarf tighter around his neck. Why Inari had wanted him to make a delivery at such a busy time was beyond him, but Yuusuke couldn’t help but suspect it was an effort to ruffle him even more than he usually did.

If it was, it was working.

For a man who preferred to disappear unnoticed, crowds, though a useful cover, were a nightmare. He’d given up on trying to carry the box in his arms and instead let it float in the space above his head, free from the bustling crowd of clumsy shoulders and elbows.

“Sir, please! It’s for the Prophet, how do you feel-“

The tell-tale sign of a reporter lead to an unsuccessful attempt to move out of her path, the swarm of bodies barricading him from escape. The woman tripped moments before he was due to pass her, and Yuusuke was relieved he wouldn’t have to go through the efforts of holding up the charade of being unable to speak English. She’d been ignored out of a stubborn determination to get out of there as soon as possible, but the plea for help was irksome enough to pull his gaze to the side and his lips down into a frown.

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!”

Inari wanted this delivered punctually and as far as he was concerned the package and his job held far more importance than the woman on the floor. He was hardly a gentleman, and the years where he'd immediately drop to his knees to assist were withered in the past.

As an afterthought above anything else, Yuusuke kicked the broken heel towards the woman and made an attempt to carry on his way.

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