Recent Statuses

1 yr ago
Current Am I doing Light Novel titles right?…
1 like
1 yr ago
So... lazy... Can't... move...
1 yr ago
Also, be sure your tongue is still sitting there comfortably in the bottom of your mouth.
1 like
3 yrs ago
While it's true that cruelty to crabs may SEEM unwarranted, I can totally get behind taking Hermit Crabs down a peg. A napping spot built onto their bodies? THEY'VE HAD IT TOO GOOD FOR TOO LONG.
1 like
3 yrs ago
Update: It occurs to me that literally putting my name on the front page of the site may in fact be correlated with an increase in profile visitors. Who could have possibly seen that coming, amirite?


Oh, hi. Thanks for checking in.

I'm an exceedingly enthusiastic roleplayer who's been writing for about ten years now and yet still hasn't managed to produce any kind of solo piece of writing worth reading. I like to consider myself a good writer, but that's kind of a matter of opinion, as many would argue that my tendency to ramble on at entirely excessive length about things is boring rather than interesting. I'm also incredibly OCD about formatting, so if you're wondering why my bios look so fancy, that's why. It's just something I do because... reasons, I guess.

Anyway, as you've probably noticed from my avatars and RP choices, I'm more than a bit of a fan of anime and manga, but also enjoy movies, video games, the occasional comic book... the list goes on. For you see, I am not a mere dork - I am the one spoken of in legends, the one whose dorkiness transcends all forms and boundaries. I am... the Legendary... OMNI-DORK!

...Anyway, thanks for dropping in to check on my profile! Hope to RP with you sometime!


Most Recent Posts

Before the dawn had finished creeping over the horizon, and long before any of the other villagers had roused themselves from sleep, a lone figure clad in a blue kimono, a hooded white robe, and a woven mantle of tattered straw could be glimpsed walking upon the hillside road on the verge of the Mumbling Wood. She moved slowly, methodically, swaying slightly from side to side as she walked, and periodically rapping the dull butt of her brass walking staff against the path before her, causing all the various trinkets and rings trailing from its circular head to jingle in the morning breeze. The howling of the distant Yokai grew fainter, replaced by the serene chiming of bells, then by the song of birds as the maiden passed by in her walk.

It was important that Oyuki do her rounds thus, for a number of reasons. For one thing, her presence was a reminder to the Yokai of the pact, and that the village was to be protected. And, for another, it was her duty to greet the spirits in this auspicious time, and offer them gifts and her best wishes. They still didn't trust her enough to speak with her directly, of course. After all, even though she had been doing this for almost five years now, that span of time was a mere moment in the eyes of those who had roamed these forests when the mountains were still young. Indeed, it would no doubt take another decade or more before they would tell her their names, as they had once done for the one who had taught her everything she now knew, and who had once led her by the hand and walked this very path so long ago. The thought made her a little sad, to be honest - but even so, she was willing to wait. After all, the spirits had already stopped fleeing at her coming, and even now, she could almost spot a few eager eyes watching her from the other side of the trees. Silently, she stopped, then knelt by the roadside, reaching into her sleeve and withdrawing a few small rice cakes, wrapped in leaves, which she placed in a stone bowl before clapping her hands once.

"Please be sure to share them with everyone, if they're to your liking. I will bring by more in the afternoon, so please look forward to it."

Giving this address to the silent forest before her, the pale young woman smiled sheepishly under her hood, then bowed and began to walk away. As she did, she could already hear the rustling in the leaves behind her, but politely refused to look back. After all, they would show themselves when they wanted to be seen. This was what she was taught.

Her walk continued all along the perimeter of the forest, and included several other stops. Last night's rainstorm had knocked over the stones piled before the old Jizo who watched over the roads, so she made sure to stack them neatly back up again. Seeing as the kindly old statue seemed terribly cold and forlorn, and the hat she had made him had blown away, she removed her own straw mantle and draped it over the guardian's shoulders, offering a prayer as she tied it securely onto him for his continued help in watching over the village and its children. Of all the spirits, the guardian Jizo was one to whom she felt a particular sense of closeness. After all, she herself had once come down this road as a destitute orphan in need of shelter, and surely, he had been watching over her ever since. There was something in his kindly smile that seemed to tell her so, and so she always took special care to make sure he was warm and shielded from the rain.

"Please watch over me... over us, in the year to come. And thank you."

She thus diligently passed the remainder of her solitary walk, leaving an offering here, giving a prayer there, and everywhere showing that there was yet one in Heiseina who remembered the old contract. Truth be told, it was always a little sad, following this path alone, and when she would first set out in the morning retracing the footsteps of those who had gone before her, even after all these years it was hard not to cry. And yet, there was something about it that was liberating as well, reassuring her that her efforts weren't in vain -- that she wasn't alone, even if she couldn't see those who walked beside her. By the time she found herself back at the foot of the shrine's long staircase, shielding her eyes against the dawn shining through the torii gate, she would always be smiling, and she always did her best to take that smile with her through the rest of the day.

She put up her staff by the offering box, and went to draw water to cleanse her hands. After so doing, she set about her usual chores, sweeping the courtyard, cleaning the outside of the shrine, and them preparing breakfast both for herself and for any Yokai who might drop in to visit that morning. When she'd finished her own meal, she put out several extra trays by the back step, then headed to the outbuilding to take some lanterns out of storage. It was a little early, to be sure, but she'd feel more at ease once they were hung in preparation for the festival. Besides, if the shrine looked more welcoming, then maybe the villagers would feel less uneasy about the upcoming festival. Maybe... they'd trust that she could actually handle the responsibility, this time.

But such hopeful thoughts were swiftly turned to confusion as she heard the sound of skittering paws scrambling frantically up the steps. Turning to glance at the source of the sound, she found herself face to face(?) with a small white fox, which tossed down a small scroll at her feet, then began to yip and yelp with tremendous urgency. She nearly dropped the storehouse key that she was holding as it at last sank in what exactly she was looking at. Even for her dear Aunt, the once-beloved Miko of Miorochi's shrine, such a guest would be considered unfathomably rare. And though she'd have loved to call such a once-in-a-lifetime visit auspicious, judging by the creature's desperation, the circumstances were anything but.

"Please, stay a moment and rest, servant of Inari-sama. You've clearly come a long way. Erm... Then, I hope I'm not being presumptuous, but I'll look over your message at once." Giving this hasty offer of welcome - as she did not want to be disrespectful, but her guest's mannerisms clearly suggested that now was not the time for pleasantries - she wasted no time in bowing, then knelt to retrieve the scroll. Unfolding it, she cast her eyes over the message there contained... and felt a chill run up her spine. Her eyes went wide, and her blood ran cold as a chill wind swept through the shrine's courtyard like a forewarning of the storm yet to come.

"What... What is this?"

Bel had been somewhat preoccupied by his mentor's whirlwind arrival and then departure, and as such, had failed to do two things. Firstly, he hadn't paid much attention to the crowd of fellow students slowly surrounding him and filling up the nearby tables, until the air had already begun filled with a rather annoying drone of constant chatter. Secondly, he hadn't managed to finish eating his dish of ration slurry until the already unappetizing paste had now become lukewarm to boot. He poked at it with his spoon, a grimace of disgust forming on his face as he realized that one of the only saving graces of the alleged "food" had now come and gone, despite his dedication to arriving early. He was just lamenting the inevitability that his lunch was already ruined, however, when he caught sight of a rather furious looking boy rising up and storming off from a nearby table holding... Wait a second, was that a bloody Zhenko bar? It was. It was.

...To be honest, under normal circumstances, the sweet snack would have been a welcome addition to his meal, but it wasn't something he'd go out of his way to obtain - particularly not to the point of bothering someone just to get his hands on it. However, that girl over there looked awfully proud of herself, and he had heard rumors about a black marketeer who could get contraband foods and was willing to trade for them... And the nightmare called "lunch" sitting in front of him definitely meant this situation wasn't normal by any stretch of the imagination.

So it was that, steeling his resolve to deal with the inevitable hassle of social interaction, the dark-haired lad slowly stood up and approached Cicinna's table. Rapping a knuckle against the back of the chair opposite her, he glanced down with one eyebrow quizzically raised, his eyes awkwardly sliding between the seated girl and the area around them, as if suspecting that one of the station's administrators would come bursting in at any moment to bust the illegal contraband trade that was about to go down.

"Oi, you wouldn't happen to... uh... have any more of those, would ya?"
I may try to edit this later, maybe cut down on some of the lengthy and overly poetic character concept bit, but for now this is what I'm going with.

Updating with character concept. Will probably be doing a would-be Miko who owed a debt to the old shrine maiden, and has been doing her best to take care of the shrine after said maiden's death despite lacking the knowledge of rituals and spiritual things to be a proper miko herself. I'll be down to coordinate backstories and pre-game relationships with other onmyouji/miko/monk types who might also have had dealings with the shrine in the past.
<Snipped quote by Feyblue>
I will leave this RP right now! Don't make me turn this around!

<Snipped quote by Cybermaxx>
Oh. Thank god nobody had an idea like that at all.

Don't sass me Inky, or I'll play a goddamn bird, just watch me
Might have time for this one, gonna see if I can come up with something I really want to do and then decide if I want to commit.

Almost the moment the professor declared the lecture had ended, a rather tall, dark-haired young man in the back row had already closed out of his desk terminal, risen to his feet, slung a somewhat ragged and worn backpack over one shoulder, and headed for the door. At a glance, one might have assumed based on his frown and his haste to get out of the classroom that there was somewhere else he needed to be - after all, he did seem to be in quite the hurry, and gave off a certain impression that he didn't want to be meddled with. But of course, that wasn't entirely the case, as he, like those who followed after him, simply made his way to the lunch hall as expected.

Bel always had a policy of trying to arrive at lunch as early as possible. Front of the line meant first to get in. First to get in meant first to get served. First to get served meant he could find his own spot to eat off in some small corner of the dining hall without ending up crowded out by his fellow engineering cadets, or worse, those damned stuck-up piloting candidates. Of the two, the former were infinitely more welcoming, but that in and of itself made them almost as bad as the alternative. After all, the only reason they'd even bother talking to him was because they saw in him the potential for some sort of camaraderie which Bel had no intention of participating in. Just because he'd ended up in their program, they assumed he was some kind of failure who'd join them in resenting and envying everyone else who'd actually managed to cut it. But what was there to envy? He wasn't a failure.

He'd outperformed all those stuck-up asshats who, starting this year, would be wearing the coveted blue and looking down their noses at him like he was some sort of insect, as if all those times he'd shot them down in simulation had never even happened. Even without a partner, he still could easily have qualified for the normal piloting program, and probably could have done quite well for himself if he'd just been allowed to try. But that man... That damned man... He'd pushed Bel aside just because he wasn't fit to be his protege, and had tried to cover up his own embarrassment at trying to force his own son into that role and failing by shoving Bel as far out of the limelight as possible.

Of course, even if he had been able to make it into the green program, Bel would have surely refused had the choice been given to him. That would be settling for second best, and second best wasn't his style. The result would have doubtless been the same, so that wasn't why he was angry. He just resented not being given the choice.

After skimming through the serving line and grabbing a few different flavors of the soupy, synthetic ooze that passed for food - all of which were equally bad, by the way, but his prior year's experience had already taught him that blending a few of the least offensive flavors could make the resulting culinary abomination at least marginally more palatable - Bel had just found a nice spot near the back of the cafeteria and sat down to eat when a shadow was suddenly cast over him from behind. He cocked his head back just enough to make out a white and red uniform like his own. It was strange, though... He didn't remember anyone quite so tall being in the program. Well, whatever.

"Yeah? Whaddya want?" He half-mumbled, half-growled as he kicked back in his chair, turning to give a barely concerned half-glance back at the unseen individual now looming over him. The person in question cleared his throat very pointedly, and it was around this point that Bel realized his mistaken assumption. Throwing down his food, he shot bolt upright and turned around, standing immediately at attention before the bowl containing what passed for his lunch could even finish rattling and wobbling on the unsteady table he'd jostled in his wake.

"Captain Zaren, sir!" He exclaimed as he met the gaze of his team's supervisor. The tall, tan-skinned man gave a slight chuckle, his lips forming into a lopsided grin as he removed one hand from his pocket and waved it dismissively.

"At ease, kid."

"My bad. ...Thought you were someone else," Bel somewhat awkwardly apologized despite himself, his posture relaxing back to his usual slouch as he dragged the chair out to one side, then dropped once more into his seat. It was remarkable how quickly his conditioned discipline gave way to complete disregard for order once his surprise had passed, but thankfully, his teacher didn't exactly make a point of standing on ceremony. What would otherwise have probably been seen as disrespect passed between them as normal - so long as they were outside of class. Either way, he decided it would be best to get to the point before the grinning captain could tease him any further. "So what's the deal? I thought we didn't have any meetings or exercises or whatever set until the project tomorrow?"

"And you'd be right," The captain replied with a shrug, tossing himself down in the seat across from his student. "So, since you're so free these days, I thought you could give this old man a hand with some of his work."

"'Old man?' Really?" Bel replied scathingly, raising an eyebrow. "You're... what, like 35? It's a little early to be begging for sympathy, even with that gray hair of yours, 'gramps.'"

"39, actually. And be that as it may, you're a little late to be learning respect for your elders, kid."

"I told you to stop calling me that."

"Whatever you say, son."

"Oh, shut up!" Bel growled irritably, shooting a glare across the table. The captain merely chuckled, and Bel grumpily sighed, shaking his head. "What do you even want my help with, anyway?"

"Nothing much. Just basic setup for a training exercise for some of the piloting newbies. The flight instructor asked me to help out since he's shorthanded at the moment. Just need to move a few seats, maybe calibrate some sim equipment..." Zaren trailed off, giving a knowing smile. Bel only realized a few moments later that he'd started grinning the moment he'd heard the words 'calibrate' and 'sim equipment,' and quickly wiped the smirk off his face. Clearing his throat, he took a moment before answering, averting his gaze so as not to be seen through.

"Well, I guess I can help you out," He responded at last, trying his best to sound inconvenienced by the whole affair. Zaren stood up with his usual lopsided grin and reached out, unexpectedly tousling the grumpy young man's already messy hair. "Hey!" Bel growled, trying to shake off the unwanted gesture.

"Knew I could count on you, kid. Head down to storage B on deck 2 when you're done eating. I'll be waiting!" With that, just as suddenly as he had appeared, the captain strolled off, leaving Bel flushed and angrily glaring after as he brushed the hair out of his face.

"I told you to stop calling me that."

“Oh, trust me, I'm just thrilled to be partnered up with you, too. Now do you wanna help, or did'ja just come here to complain about it?”
Kalian Bel Cyris II, to his co-pilot

Personal Dossier

Kalian Bel Cyris II. He commonly goes by Bel.



Agria, AKA Tau Ceti E, Tau Ceti System.

When one envisions the son of a hero, Bel probably isn't the first person to come to mind. Standing at the fairly average height of five feet, eight inches, he doesn't exactly have the towering stature or striking looks one might anticipate. His face appears to still be clinging desperately to the last vestiges of its baby fat, with surprisingly round cheeks and a somewhat dull and narrow rather than sharp and chiseled jawline. His nose is low and small, and somewhat round and buttonlike in exactly the manner one might expect an overly affectionate grandmother to find quite pinchable. He has a very prominent forehead - some might call it a fivehead - framed by the short-cropped bangs of his dark, straight, and routinely messy hair, and particularly emphasized by his high-set brow. Neither of these features, one might add, do much to detract from the rather defined contour of a set of bold eyebrows that seem so prone to frowning that you could swear them to be somehow magnetically attracted to his bright, clear blue eyes.

These eyes are, in particular, the crown jewel of his face, with a mature, focused look that perhaps, in some sense, rescues his countenance from looking wholly childish. They have a fascinating sort of energy to them, seeming to shimmer and shift with the slightest change of expression in a way which is wholly captivating. Were the rest of his features half so enthralling as his eyes, there could be no doubting him to be handsome. Nevertheless - particularly when he smiles, revealing almost equally bright rows of white teeth - he could be reasonably called somewhat attractive, or at least cute - a word which he himself would surely never tolerate.

His skin is relatively clear apart from the occasional pockmark, mole, or scar from carelessly scraping or cutting himself by accident upon some jagged piece of metal while working. Having spent his life largely either in space or underground, his skin is unsurprisingly rather pale. Nevertheless, despite his somewhat aloof lifestyle, he's in decent physical shape, probably from hauling around machine parts here and there, or from helping his family stock their small shop back when he lived with them on Agria. Nevertheless, he's less buff than he is simply thin, and as such doesn't exactly have the most imposing sort of figure.

More often than not, he's seen wearing a variety of nondescript hoodies, t-shirts, jeans, and slacks - usually blue, white, red, or gray if he can help it. However, he's particularly often seen simply wearing a hoodie over some casual clothes patterned stylistically like a flight suit, with some simple bits of padding tacked onto them for effect, but coupled with a significantly finer white and red jacket emblazoned with a red delta logo. While this logo was adopted by his engineering group, it was originally the personal crest of his mentor and role model, Captain Asher Zaren, from whom he received the jacket as a present from his days as a pilot. He wears it with pride out of reverence for his mentor, and is seldom seen without it.

Bel could perhaps best be described as a walking contradiction. At a glance, one might describe him as cheerful, confident, and carefree. He's perpetually irreverent and casual, making light of almost any situation and thus finding something in it to amuse himself. He always seems on top of his game, ready for anything that comes his way. And yet, he's also aloof in a sense, as he stubbornly refuses to seriously engage with... well, almost anything, really. His constant joking hides a tendency to seldom treat any matter seriously. This isn't to say he's indecisive or cowardly, however. If forced to address or answer to a challenge head-on, he'll tackle it as best - and as quickly - as he can, all while making it seem effortless. And yet, his reluctance to answer seriously when questioned or rise to the occasion when called hints at the fragility of his ego.

In this sense, he's quite the rebellious teenage spirit. He doesn't like being compared to others, because regardless of his relative competence, he seems to expect he'll be looked down on or spited. And yet, given how hard he tries to look like he's not trying, he also clearly values his reputation. He wants to be praised, or, failing that, to be told that what he's lacking is motivation and effort, not talent. When one figures this out, he's surprisingly easy to lead on bit by bit, as he'll sometimes forget that he's supposed to seem unconcerned when he thinks he's doing well. In these cases, his enthusiasm and pride are clearly quite genuine, and are so earnest that one might find them quite charming in spite of his sometimes obnoxious behavior. The problem is, once he's had time to calm down from his high of pride, he goes right back to being just as affectedly unconcerned as ever.

He's very slow to trust people, and tends to think the worst of almost everyone he meets, always expecting some hidden agenda guiding their actions, and trying above all else to avoid being a pawn in their game. He values his independence very highly, such that he's even hesitant to speak warmly of others, much less be known to have helped them, lest they realize he actually values and admires them. He hates talking about anyone's problems, let alone his own, and as such, can seem quite cold-hearted. And yet, perhaps the one he's trying to deceive is himself, not wanting to admit that despite his desperate efforts to be his own man, utterly unfeeling and unconcerned with the affairs of others, he's actually not as terrible a person as he pretends to be? In truth, what really frustrates him so much in hearing the feelings and hurts of others isn't that they're bothering him and wasting his time with something he doesn't care about, but rather that he can't offer a solution to those problems - a fact he's all too familiar with in his own family life.

His family is, in a phrase, both the root of his many neuroses, and the only exception to them. When it comes to the Keliath family who raised him, he's easily embarrassed by them, but unmistakably warm towards and respectful of them, particularly his mother Anda. However, if there's one thing that makes him go from merely aloof to actually hostile, it's his father. His personality seems to do a complete 180 whenever the elder Kalian Cyris comes into the picture, and he becomes incredibly cold, bitter, and outright angry. Above all else, never compare Bel to his father, especially if that comparison is unfavorable. Doing so might make you an enemy for life.

In short, while he's in some senses kind and devoted to those he truly cares about, Bel is nevertheless a perpetually rebellious teen with severe trust issues, a short temper and a fragile ego - a faker who can't be honest with himself and his own feelings, much less express those things to others. Treat him well, and he'll probably consider you a friend, even if he won't say so. He's not, perhaps, what one would expect of the son of a hero, or of an aspirant hero himself. But he'd probably say that those expectations are ridiculous. Utter selflessness and honesty? Giving up one's own life for the sake of those one doesn't even know? Allowing one's self to be merely a tool, a sacrifice, for the sake of all those cynical adults who play good people like pawns in their big game? His world has never been so big as all that. So long as he's not hurting anyone, and the people close to him are happy, then all the rest will follow - even if he no longer has a place to return to when the fighting's done.

Background Information

Attributes & Other Information

Coordinator Type
Physical Coordinator

Coordination Profile
Awareness | ■■■■□
Composure | ■□□□□
EnduranceA| ■■■□□
Instinct A| ■■■■□
Intellect | ■■■□□
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