magato fuyumine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
slaughterys) wrote2012-05-14 03:13 am
slaughterys) wrote2012-05-14 03:13 am
Entry tags:
application.
PLAYER
» Journal: sculpt
» Birthdate/Age: April 1994 (18)
» Characters Played: N/A
CHARACTER
» Name: Magato Fuyumine
» Fandom: DOGS: Bullets & Carnage
» Reference: Magato’s Wiki entry. Alternatively, the series itself can be found here.
» Canon Point: Post chapter 62 and before his reappearance at the church.
» Gender: Male
» Age: Unspecified. However, working on the basis of Naoto’s physical aging, I’d estimate around late-twenties. Shortly after Fuyumine brought Naoto into the household (at which point Naoto was still a child), Magato appeared to be in his late teenage years/early twenties, an assumption reinforced by the later revealed knowledge that Magato was an ex-solider of the underground and younger brother of Fruhling. Supposedly, Magato would’ve had to have spent a good number of years training in order to be accepted as a soldier, but could not be so old as to be older than his sister who… could be anywhere between 20 and 35 Miwa please help a girl out here.
As Naoto is seen to age, Magato obviously… also… ages, although the differentiation between Miwa’s styles in DOGS and DOGS: B&C and also the way adding a skimpy leather vest is about the only thing to show that Magato actually got any older during DOGS means that Magato’s physical aging isn’t as apparent or indicative as Naoto’s. However, as Naoto ages from child to young adult throughout the duration of the series, and as I pin Magato’s original age around twenty-something, I’m going to go with the headcanon number of about 27 as his age! Ish. I…. sh….
» Orientation: Unknown. The closest example of a sexual encounter we have is his apparent near-rape of Naoto, although as Fuyumine intervened before he could take it too far it’s unclear whether he would actually have gone through with it or whether his interest were more in seeing her scar and adding a couple mental ones of his own. The world Magato chooses to live in is one where filth and instinct are the prevailing factors of everyday life, though, so it’s pretty unlikely he’s an innocent untouched flower, but it’s not explicitly stated with whom he prefers to sate any sexual appetite he might have.
» Personality: Magato Fuyumine is more or less a man of two halves, pre- and post-“death”. Pre-“death”, Magato was a man driven by his aspiration to surpass his mentor, Fuyumine. All underhanded sentiments and below the belt tactics, Magato’s driving focus was just to overcome Fuyumine – working as a ‘cleaner’ in the slummiest districts, a killer-for-hire, he trained his blade in private and away from Fuyumine’s watch, making sure not to “lay all his cards on the table”. As he revealed later, he would also help Fuyumine when the man went out to save children of the districts from the “hunt” of Einstürzen’s mutts from below, although Magato’s motivation in doing this wasn’t to help the children but to make use of all the ‘fodder’ the dogs of down below provided him with, an opportunity to slice and maim and devour without the repercussions of a rampant killing spree anywhere the police might take notice. In short, Magato was brutal, a man without conscience or concern for life (human or otherwise), only a desire to use and abuse and defile and destroy it. A living being was an opportunity for a dead one, and a being dead by his hand was one step closer to defeating Fuyumine.
Even back then, Magato seems to have held a fondness for tainted and tarnished things that levels with his disregard for human discontent. Upon pinning Naoto and cutting open her shirt, Magato becomes fixated with her scar, noting that “they say a woman shouldn’t reveal her scars, but this one just accentuates your beauty.” He’s stopped from scarring Naoto further by the appearance of Fuyumine, but that begs the question of what might’ve happened if Fuyumine didn’t appear – or, indeed, whether or not Magato was well aware that Fuyumine was closeby. Whether or not Magato would’ve raped Naoto remains unknown, but as for his reasoning, in all likelihood this was just another way to get under Fuyumine’s skin, to break him down from the inside out, therefore bringing Magato closer to his aspiration. Magato isn’t one for honourable tactics. Not above creating emotional cracks in order to make it easier to bring down a man, he’s a ruthless snake willing to take all the wrong paths to all the wrong places – which are, more often than not, the places he wants to be most.
Even after being roundaboutly accused of attempted rape by Fuyumine, Magato brushes it off with a nonchalant “Alright, alright, you got me.” No remorse, no concern for the damage he might’ve done, and a cocksure knowledge that Fuyumine will not retaliate because he, too, is an important part of Fuyumine’s ‘family’. The flippant way he manipulates this knowledge to use Fuyumine’s loyalty and what is likely some form of familial love against him is merciless and cruel as tactics go, but also smart, a sign of Magato’s general nature.
Upon defeating Fuyumine, Magato’s all self-congratulation (“Today is a glorious day, let’s call it ‘Magato’s glorious independence day’!”) and so much goddamned pent up hatethanksgratituderelief, the sum of so many years waiting and training and reaping and ‘cleaning’ and hating and caring and wanting Fuyumine’s head on a plate. Fuyumine had been his teacher and protector for so long, and Magato so desperate to show him he could surpass him, that when he finally does he gets almost high on the thrill of it, thanking the corpse of the dead man for their time together, for the hours Fuyumine had put into helping Magato work towards the elder’s demise. This shows an incredible patience on Magato’s front. Once set on a goal, he will stop at no ends to achieve it, spending as much time on it as he must until it’s down. Looking forward and never back, wasting no time on revenge or regret (he tells Naoto that he sees revenge as a waste of life, tainting the present by dwelling on the past).
When fighting, especially a fight he’s particularly invested in he tends to lose check of himself a little, handing over to instinct and enjoyment. His skills are honed and impossibly dangerous enough that he can afford to go a little crazy – which he does, revelling in each cut received and delivered, soaking up a challenge with glee and plentiful batshit facial expressions. The more difficult the fight, the more thrill he’ll get out of it; he doesn’t seem to take all that much out of a pointless or easy fight. An instance of this was shown when he was talking to Naoto about the attack of the army of underground hounds, saying how although the swarm was something like an all-you-can-eat buffet, the ‘food’ was just garbage.
But Magato is not without his own set of values, his perspective’s just a little different from other people’s. He, just as anyone is bound to, forges attachments and favouritisms. After being slashed potentially fatally by Naoto, he reveals to her the truth – that Fuyumine was not the one who killed her “parents”, and that he believed Fuyumine was right to keep it from her, so that hating him could become her reason to go on living. In not telling her until after Fuyumine was dead, Magato allowed her to continue living under the illusion he had cast – a bizarre kind of kindness, in its own way. Although he thinks little of revenge, he’s also not one to impose his views on others, so he didn’t shatter the illusion until it was too late for it to do her any good.
After this, Magato slinks off to die where he chooses, and this marks his ‘death’. When we next meet him, his personality’s changed slightly, relaxed from that of a sly manipulator into a guy who’s sitting back and enjoying the ride, filling his days with ‘fun’ - a more instinctive and laid back, but equally deadly, killer. Magato now lives free of Fuyumine and completely independently, and has a whole host of things to live by but not a lot of inhibitions. Still just as happy to kill a man without it leaving him with an inch of regret, Magato has taken up ‘cleaning’ on a more substantial basis, taking clients just so long as they provide him with a good enough kill. And hey, if the pickings aren’t ripe? He’ll kill their dogs, too, and for good measure the client.
Magato’s respect for life is different now, in that he has one – but it isn’t in the value of people’s emotions or their right to live, but rather in how much worth their death will have. He asks Herbst not to ask for his assistance in killing or abducting children not because he has any particular ethics against it, but because they’re no challenge (thus their death would be easy to achieve and therefore worthless), and their squealing bugs him. On this same note, his respect for life – or rather, the taking of it—is something he takes quite seriously. He believes in a sort of fate, that every day is different, that no one day will present the same clouds in the sky or the same desire to devour, and that there is a day forewritten as the day you’ll come to die (although that last part could quite easily have been the empassioned talk of the moment). He has no qualms in delivering the death sentence, either, having as much fun as he can (killing as many people as he can.) He’ll remember their names and the dates of their deaths, too, to the extent where he can quote them in reverse order, name and date.
His links to the underground means he knows a lot about most everything going on in the lower levels of the city, but he’s not greedy with the info! When Naoto comes asking, he’s more than happy to take her off on a merry dance for answers (after, of course, greeting her with knives and an altogether deadlier dance.)
Naoto, of course, being one of the only people he’s shown to have any kind of meaningful dealings with. And by meaningful dealings I mean hello, dear sister, let us fight now. And by let us fight now I mean WHO’S THIS SHITTY EYEBROWS FREAK HE’S NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU. And by WHO’S THIS SHITTY EYEBROWS FREAK HE’S NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU I mean let me take you to meet my real sister, who killed your “parents” who were not actually your parents but greedy researchers escaping with you because you were a lot of effort to clone and it would be a waste for you to die. And by all that I mean oh shit run away now or you will die. And really, that’s probably a whole lot more concern than he’ll ever show for anyone else. Somewhere along the way, he got invested in watching Naoto grow – maybe it’s because she’s his sister’s copy, maybe it’s because she trained so hard for the sole purpose of exacting her revenge, or maybe it’s because he wants the pleasure of fighting with her to the death (again) all to himself. Either way, there aren’t a great many people could say they’ve been “saved” by Magato Fuyumine, and though Naoto can’t exactly say that either, she can she’s killed him (almost). That’s about as close to Magato as anyone will ever get.
Despite his unpredictable and dangerous nature, Magato’s still just your regular slum guy with a heightened lust for blood and carnage. Beneath it there’s a playfulness and a normality, cusswords and sarcasm, belligerence and cockiness. When meeting Naoto again for the first time after she nearly killed him, the first thing he does is fly off into a little tailspin (in the middle of slashing a knife at Heine’s throat) about how he doesn’t approve of this no-eyebrows being her boyfriend, and how far have you gone with him, and what do you mean he’s seen your scar?! Brother’s so disappointed!!! Regardless of the situation and the bizarre contrast of HI NAOTO WHAT’S UP LET ME CUT YOU IN GREETING and is this guy your boyfriend no way!!!!, Magato does what he wants and says what he wants, and there’s very little you can do to surprise him or throw him off his course. Sarcastic and crude when he wants to be, casual and smooth when it suits, slightly off-kilter when there’s a chance for a challenge, Magato has a face for every occasion, and a knife for anybody brave enough to meet it with their own.
» Appearance: A tall ass motherfucker, Magato wears his dark hair just past shoulder length, most of it usually tied back enough to keep it out of his way. He has a well-muscled build in keeping with a guy who’s trained, fought and fucked shit up since he could first wield a knife, and he can generally be found in the shittiest pirate-boot skinny-jean combo around.
» Suitability: N/A
SAMPLES
» "amatomnes" First-Person Network Entry:
[TEXT]
ssssssoooooo. nice place you got here. atia right?
[there’s a comfort in text on a screen. sure, the buttons are a fiddly pain in the ass, but there’s a sort of anonymity you just don’t get by speaking up or showing your face. not that he’s hiding, it’s just easier to be a jackass with pixels on a screen than with the threat of retaliation from a hundred whiny voices droning in his ear]
[that’s assuming anyone’s going to be polite enough to reply in kind. ah well, guess we’ll just have to wait and see]
question for you, atia. its important so listen up. read up??? whatev whateva ears eyes open read go
vanilla or nice n spicy????? inquiring minds want to know
(p.s naoto we need to talk ive got a bone to pick)
[that should just about do it]
» "amatomneslogs" Third-Person Prose Entry:
You know it’s been a Good Day when you wake up with an itch scratched and that buzz, the tingle that says last night (this morning this afternoon this evening whenever the fuck, night or day never meant much in the underground) was full of all kinds of slicksweat, gaspgrind. A quick fuck or slow and steady, doesn’t matter– though he knows what he prefers, debased and debauched and head held under, drowned in elation and exasperation and everything else that comes with the climb, with the rise, with the scramble and desperate leap to the edge—to diving right over it. Black. Hitting god knows what so hard and fast there’s only black. Those are the best nightsdayseveningsafternoonsmornings. Filth. That’s what you want when you wake up in the morning. Sweatstuck hair and all your filth still caked wherever you left it when you fell apart. A stranger’s bed, a stranger’s floor, a stranger’s couch. Climbing into your clothes still covered in all that mess. Languid. Lazy. A stranger’s fridge, a stranger’s coffee, a stranger’s breakfast. Gone before a stranger wakes.
… Shit. Can’t help but get all poetic when you’re lying around in the afterglow. Nothing beats the hum of the afterglow.
Except this time, something does. Something does beat the afterglow. Something leaps up and beats the afterglow right out of him, and Magato’s eyes haven’t even had the chance to open away from visions of thighs squeezed tight and nails clutching scraping bruising, an ass spread wide and a neck outstretched and quivering before his hand’s around his own throat, gripping, grappling. What’s this? What is this? For a moment, he’s a prisoner in a place he knows all too well. A new experiment in a way he thought himself exempt. A cheater… And then he opens his eyes. And if this is a cell from down there? Then he’s a sugarplum fairy.
This is nothing he’s ever seen. Not down below (definitely not down below, all stained metal and white walls without the trimmings), not underground (slums and stink, shitstains and bloodclots), not even on scant visits Above, where houses know the best of the city’s mercy, where buildings are as grand as grand can be for a place so close to and unaware of the shitheap it’s sitting on. And it’s funny, he figures as he fingers the collar sat loose around his neck, wondering its purpose. It’s funny, because if he were any other man from any other place, this might just be the most luxurious bed he’s ever sat on, the most beautiful room he’s ever seen. But for him? He’d rather have a couch. He’d rather have his one night stand with a stranger more likely to give him chlamydia than release. The nameless stains on the carpet, the secret stashes under the bed, the piercings where piercings shouldn’t be, the mattress that sings like a mezzo soprano until everything’s over and done and it’s just as worn down as they are.
This room’s all wrong. This is a room for sweet nothings.
Sweet nothings aren’t his style.
Sitting up, one leg dangling lazily over the edge of the bed while the other rests crossed, Magato glances around, offering up a second inspection. –huh. At least his knives are intact. Not the smartest move on any captors account – though, he’ll be honest, he never pictured himself the most likely victim of any date rape drug. Whatever happened to take him from getting his ass as far away from those Special Ops agents to here, in the bed of some poncy someone-or-other, sated and naked and with his clothes and knives piled neatly a couple of paces away, it beats him.
Staring mutely at the little heap of his things, finger now tapping out a changeable rhythm on the collar at his throat, Magato catches sight of an item he hadn’t brought with him. Attention peaked, he takes the time to sit and yawn at it – wide, wider, wider—shit, shitshitshit lockjaw fuck ouch—and finally to push himself up and out of bed with a disgruntled grunt. Sheets drag half onto the floor before abandoning him completely as he reaches the object, picks it up and fiddles it on.
A moment to investigate, a moment more, and then a slow smile spreads his lips wide, invites his teeth out to play. Huh. So it looks like he’ll have a new list of names to remember before too long.
If nothing else, it’ll be an experience.
» Journal: sculpt
» Birthdate/Age: April 1994 (18)
» Characters Played: N/A
CHARACTER
» Name: Magato Fuyumine
» Fandom: DOGS: Bullets & Carnage
» Reference: Magato’s Wiki entry. Alternatively, the series itself can be found here.
» Canon Point: Post chapter 62 and before his reappearance at the church.
» Gender: Male
» Age: Unspecified. However, working on the basis of Naoto’s physical aging, I’d estimate around late-twenties. Shortly after Fuyumine brought Naoto into the household (at which point Naoto was still a child), Magato appeared to be in his late teenage years/early twenties, an assumption reinforced by the later revealed knowledge that Magato was an ex-solider of the underground and younger brother of Fruhling. Supposedly, Magato would’ve had to have spent a good number of years training in order to be accepted as a soldier, but could not be so old as to be older than his sister who… could be anywhere between 20 and 35 Miwa please help a girl out here.
As Naoto is seen to age, Magato obviously… also… ages, although the differentiation between Miwa’s styles in DOGS and DOGS: B&C and also the way adding a skimpy leather vest is about the only thing to show that Magato actually got any older during DOGS means that Magato’s physical aging isn’t as apparent or indicative as Naoto’s. However, as Naoto ages from child to young adult throughout the duration of the series, and as I pin Magato’s original age around twenty-something, I’m going to go with the headcanon number of about 27 as his age! Ish. I…. sh….
» Orientation: Unknown. The closest example of a sexual encounter we have is his apparent near-rape of Naoto, although as Fuyumine intervened before he could take it too far it’s unclear whether he would actually have gone through with it or whether his interest were more in seeing her scar and adding a couple mental ones of his own. The world Magato chooses to live in is one where filth and instinct are the prevailing factors of everyday life, though, so it’s pretty unlikely he’s an innocent untouched flower, but it’s not explicitly stated with whom he prefers to sate any sexual appetite he might have.
» Personality: Magato Fuyumine is more or less a man of two halves, pre- and post-“death”. Pre-“death”, Magato was a man driven by his aspiration to surpass his mentor, Fuyumine. All underhanded sentiments and below the belt tactics, Magato’s driving focus was just to overcome Fuyumine – working as a ‘cleaner’ in the slummiest districts, a killer-for-hire, he trained his blade in private and away from Fuyumine’s watch, making sure not to “lay all his cards on the table”. As he revealed later, he would also help Fuyumine when the man went out to save children of the districts from the “hunt” of Einstürzen’s mutts from below, although Magato’s motivation in doing this wasn’t to help the children but to make use of all the ‘fodder’ the dogs of down below provided him with, an opportunity to slice and maim and devour without the repercussions of a rampant killing spree anywhere the police might take notice. In short, Magato was brutal, a man without conscience or concern for life (human or otherwise), only a desire to use and abuse and defile and destroy it. A living being was an opportunity for a dead one, and a being dead by his hand was one step closer to defeating Fuyumine.
Even back then, Magato seems to have held a fondness for tainted and tarnished things that levels with his disregard for human discontent. Upon pinning Naoto and cutting open her shirt, Magato becomes fixated with her scar, noting that “they say a woman shouldn’t reveal her scars, but this one just accentuates your beauty.” He’s stopped from scarring Naoto further by the appearance of Fuyumine, but that begs the question of what might’ve happened if Fuyumine didn’t appear – or, indeed, whether or not Magato was well aware that Fuyumine was closeby. Whether or not Magato would’ve raped Naoto remains unknown, but as for his reasoning, in all likelihood this was just another way to get under Fuyumine’s skin, to break him down from the inside out, therefore bringing Magato closer to his aspiration. Magato isn’t one for honourable tactics. Not above creating emotional cracks in order to make it easier to bring down a man, he’s a ruthless snake willing to take all the wrong paths to all the wrong places – which are, more often than not, the places he wants to be most.
Even after being roundaboutly accused of attempted rape by Fuyumine, Magato brushes it off with a nonchalant “Alright, alright, you got me.” No remorse, no concern for the damage he might’ve done, and a cocksure knowledge that Fuyumine will not retaliate because he, too, is an important part of Fuyumine’s ‘family’. The flippant way he manipulates this knowledge to use Fuyumine’s loyalty and what is likely some form of familial love against him is merciless and cruel as tactics go, but also smart, a sign of Magato’s general nature.
Upon defeating Fuyumine, Magato’s all self-congratulation (“Today is a glorious day, let’s call it ‘Magato’s glorious independence day’!”) and so much goddamned pent up hatethanksgratituderelief, the sum of so many years waiting and training and reaping and ‘cleaning’ and hating and caring and wanting Fuyumine’s head on a plate. Fuyumine had been his teacher and protector for so long, and Magato so desperate to show him he could surpass him, that when he finally does he gets almost high on the thrill of it, thanking the corpse of the dead man for their time together, for the hours Fuyumine had put into helping Magato work towards the elder’s demise. This shows an incredible patience on Magato’s front. Once set on a goal, he will stop at no ends to achieve it, spending as much time on it as he must until it’s down. Looking forward and never back, wasting no time on revenge or regret (he tells Naoto that he sees revenge as a waste of life, tainting the present by dwelling on the past).
When fighting, especially a fight he’s particularly invested in he tends to lose check of himself a little, handing over to instinct and enjoyment. His skills are honed and impossibly dangerous enough that he can afford to go a little crazy – which he does, revelling in each cut received and delivered, soaking up a challenge with glee and plentiful batshit facial expressions. The more difficult the fight, the more thrill he’ll get out of it; he doesn’t seem to take all that much out of a pointless or easy fight. An instance of this was shown when he was talking to Naoto about the attack of the army of underground hounds, saying how although the swarm was something like an all-you-can-eat buffet, the ‘food’ was just garbage.
But Magato is not without his own set of values, his perspective’s just a little different from other people’s. He, just as anyone is bound to, forges attachments and favouritisms. After being slashed potentially fatally by Naoto, he reveals to her the truth – that Fuyumine was not the one who killed her “parents”, and that he believed Fuyumine was right to keep it from her, so that hating him could become her reason to go on living. In not telling her until after Fuyumine was dead, Magato allowed her to continue living under the illusion he had cast – a bizarre kind of kindness, in its own way. Although he thinks little of revenge, he’s also not one to impose his views on others, so he didn’t shatter the illusion until it was too late for it to do her any good.
After this, Magato slinks off to die where he chooses, and this marks his ‘death’. When we next meet him, his personality’s changed slightly, relaxed from that of a sly manipulator into a guy who’s sitting back and enjoying the ride, filling his days with ‘fun’ - a more instinctive and laid back, but equally deadly, killer. Magato now lives free of Fuyumine and completely independently, and has a whole host of things to live by but not a lot of inhibitions. Still just as happy to kill a man without it leaving him with an inch of regret, Magato has taken up ‘cleaning’ on a more substantial basis, taking clients just so long as they provide him with a good enough kill. And hey, if the pickings aren’t ripe? He’ll kill their dogs, too, and for good measure the client.
Magato’s respect for life is different now, in that he has one – but it isn’t in the value of people’s emotions or their right to live, but rather in how much worth their death will have. He asks Herbst not to ask for his assistance in killing or abducting children not because he has any particular ethics against it, but because they’re no challenge (thus their death would be easy to achieve and therefore worthless), and their squealing bugs him. On this same note, his respect for life – or rather, the taking of it—is something he takes quite seriously. He believes in a sort of fate, that every day is different, that no one day will present the same clouds in the sky or the same desire to devour, and that there is a day forewritten as the day you’ll come to die (although that last part could quite easily have been the empassioned talk of the moment). He has no qualms in delivering the death sentence, either, having as much fun as he can (killing as many people as he can.) He’ll remember their names and the dates of their deaths, too, to the extent where he can quote them in reverse order, name and date.
His links to the underground means he knows a lot about most everything going on in the lower levels of the city, but he’s not greedy with the info! When Naoto comes asking, he’s more than happy to take her off on a merry dance for answers (after, of course, greeting her with knives and an altogether deadlier dance.)
Naoto, of course, being one of the only people he’s shown to have any kind of meaningful dealings with. And by meaningful dealings I mean hello, dear sister, let us fight now. And by let us fight now I mean WHO’S THIS SHITTY EYEBROWS FREAK HE’S NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU. And by WHO’S THIS SHITTY EYEBROWS FREAK HE’S NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU I mean let me take you to meet my real sister, who killed your “parents” who were not actually your parents but greedy researchers escaping with you because you were a lot of effort to clone and it would be a waste for you to die. And by all that I mean oh shit run away now or you will die. And really, that’s probably a whole lot more concern than he’ll ever show for anyone else. Somewhere along the way, he got invested in watching Naoto grow – maybe it’s because she’s his sister’s copy, maybe it’s because she trained so hard for the sole purpose of exacting her revenge, or maybe it’s because he wants the pleasure of fighting with her to the death (again) all to himself. Either way, there aren’t a great many people could say they’ve been “saved” by Magato Fuyumine, and though Naoto can’t exactly say that either, she can she’s killed him (almost). That’s about as close to Magato as anyone will ever get.
Despite his unpredictable and dangerous nature, Magato’s still just your regular slum guy with a heightened lust for blood and carnage. Beneath it there’s a playfulness and a normality, cusswords and sarcasm, belligerence and cockiness. When meeting Naoto again for the first time after she nearly killed him, the first thing he does is fly off into a little tailspin (in the middle of slashing a knife at Heine’s throat) about how he doesn’t approve of this no-eyebrows being her boyfriend, and how far have you gone with him, and what do you mean he’s seen your scar?! Brother’s so disappointed!!! Regardless of the situation and the bizarre contrast of HI NAOTO WHAT’S UP LET ME CUT YOU IN GREETING and is this guy your boyfriend no way!!!!, Magato does what he wants and says what he wants, and there’s very little you can do to surprise him or throw him off his course. Sarcastic and crude when he wants to be, casual and smooth when it suits, slightly off-kilter when there’s a chance for a challenge, Magato has a face for every occasion, and a knife for anybody brave enough to meet it with their own.
» Appearance: A tall ass motherfucker, Magato wears his dark hair just past shoulder length, most of it usually tied back enough to keep it out of his way. He has a well-muscled build in keeping with a guy who’s trained, fought and fucked shit up since he could first wield a knife, and he can generally be found in the shittiest pirate-boot skinny-jean combo around.
» Suitability: N/A
SAMPLES
» "amatomnes" First-Person Network Entry:
[TEXT]
ssssssoooooo. nice place you got here. atia right?
[there’s a comfort in text on a screen. sure, the buttons are a fiddly pain in the ass, but there’s a sort of anonymity you just don’t get by speaking up or showing your face. not that he’s hiding, it’s just easier to be a jackass with pixels on a screen than with the threat of retaliation from a hundred whiny voices droning in his ear]
[that’s assuming anyone’s going to be polite enough to reply in kind. ah well, guess we’ll just have to wait and see]
question for you, atia. its important so listen up. read up??? whatev whateva ears eyes open read go
vanilla or nice n spicy????? inquiring minds want to know
(p.s naoto we need to talk ive got a bone to pick)
[that should just about do it]
» "amatomneslogs" Third-Person Prose Entry:
You know it’s been a Good Day when you wake up with an itch scratched and that buzz, the tingle that says last night (this morning this afternoon this evening whenever the fuck, night or day never meant much in the underground) was full of all kinds of slicksweat, gaspgrind. A quick fuck or slow and steady, doesn’t matter– though he knows what he prefers, debased and debauched and head held under, drowned in elation and exasperation and everything else that comes with the climb, with the rise, with the scramble and desperate leap to the edge—to diving right over it. Black. Hitting god knows what so hard and fast there’s only black. Those are the best nightsdayseveningsafternoonsmornings. Filth. That’s what you want when you wake up in the morning. Sweatstuck hair and all your filth still caked wherever you left it when you fell apart. A stranger’s bed, a stranger’s floor, a stranger’s couch. Climbing into your clothes still covered in all that mess. Languid. Lazy. A stranger’s fridge, a stranger’s coffee, a stranger’s breakfast. Gone before a stranger wakes.
… Shit. Can’t help but get all poetic when you’re lying around in the afterglow. Nothing beats the hum of the afterglow.
Except this time, something does. Something does beat the afterglow. Something leaps up and beats the afterglow right out of him, and Magato’s eyes haven’t even had the chance to open away from visions of thighs squeezed tight and nails clutching scraping bruising, an ass spread wide and a neck outstretched and quivering before his hand’s around his own throat, gripping, grappling. What’s this? What is this? For a moment, he’s a prisoner in a place he knows all too well. A new experiment in a way he thought himself exempt. A cheater… And then he opens his eyes. And if this is a cell from down there? Then he’s a sugarplum fairy.
This is nothing he’s ever seen. Not down below (definitely not down below, all stained metal and white walls without the trimmings), not underground (slums and stink, shitstains and bloodclots), not even on scant visits Above, where houses know the best of the city’s mercy, where buildings are as grand as grand can be for a place so close to and unaware of the shitheap it’s sitting on. And it’s funny, he figures as he fingers the collar sat loose around his neck, wondering its purpose. It’s funny, because if he were any other man from any other place, this might just be the most luxurious bed he’s ever sat on, the most beautiful room he’s ever seen. But for him? He’d rather have a couch. He’d rather have his one night stand with a stranger more likely to give him chlamydia than release. The nameless stains on the carpet, the secret stashes under the bed, the piercings where piercings shouldn’t be, the mattress that sings like a mezzo soprano until everything’s over and done and it’s just as worn down as they are.
This room’s all wrong. This is a room for sweet nothings.
Sweet nothings aren’t his style.
Sitting up, one leg dangling lazily over the edge of the bed while the other rests crossed, Magato glances around, offering up a second inspection. –huh. At least his knives are intact. Not the smartest move on any captors account – though, he’ll be honest, he never pictured himself the most likely victim of any date rape drug. Whatever happened to take him from getting his ass as far away from those Special Ops agents to here, in the bed of some poncy someone-or-other, sated and naked and with his clothes and knives piled neatly a couple of paces away, it beats him.
Staring mutely at the little heap of his things, finger now tapping out a changeable rhythm on the collar at his throat, Magato catches sight of an item he hadn’t brought with him. Attention peaked, he takes the time to sit and yawn at it – wide, wider, wider—shit, shitshitshit lockjaw fuck ouch—and finally to push himself up and out of bed with a disgruntled grunt. Sheets drag half onto the floor before abandoning him completely as he reaches the object, picks it up and fiddles it on.
A moment to investigate, a moment more, and then a slow smile spreads his lips wide, invites his teeth out to play. Huh. So it looks like he’ll have a new list of names to remember before too long.
If nothing else, it’ll be an experience.