PLAYER Name: Riddle Age: 30 Personal Journal:meadowed E-mail: Sycophantism@hotmail.com AIM/etc:tiger_eyes
CHARACTER Name: Joker Canon: Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler Age: 25 Timeline: After his death. Items with character at canon point: His clothes, shoes, hair ties, what's left of his ceramic arm and maybe a dagger or two?
Personality: You will not find a more cheerful bloke than Joker. He is as friendly and welcoming as they come; it is little wonder that he was the Ring-Master for Noah's Ark Circus. However his cheerfulness is oftentimes more for those around him; a facade that allows them to feel at ease. He does not want anyone worrying for him or shouldering his burdens.
As the son of a prostitute, his life has been dreary from the start. He was orphaned at a young age and turned out onto the streets. To make matters worse, he was born without his right arm. Yet, somehow, he survived and even tried to bring others under his wing. Joker is that sort of boy (and now man). He protects, cherishes and even comes to love those who depend on him as family. They are his only family, truly.
Unfortunately his open and caring heart left him vulnerable to manipulation and that was exactly how Baron Kelvin used him. At the moment of his death, Joker was heart-broken, desperate and angry that so little of what he did mattered. It was perhaps a blessing that he never learned none of it mattered (as Ciel and Sebastian discovered later). As he died, Joker revealed the strain he had been under for so long. He hated killing; he hated acquiescing to the Baron's perverted tastes, but even in his agony, he thought of all his "brothers and sisters" who were in a workhouse the Baron protected.
Simply put, Joker does not know how to be selfish. Perhaps his desperation to build and protect a family stems from the fact that he never had one or maybe the act of defending those weaker than himself makes him feel strong. Regardless, there were precious few moments in Joker's life that he thought about what he wanted. The true humanitarian was never Baron Kelvin; it was Joker. He simply lacked the funds to see his "brothers and sisters" properly fed, housed and clothed.
Underneath the face paint and bright demeanor, Joker is a depressed soul. He remembers the faces of everyone he has killed and now he must live with the truth of where his prosthetic arm originated. For all his good deeds (and good intentions), the world has repaid him with yet more agony and sorrow. Yet he is not the sort to remain in the gutter. As long as there is life in him, he will search for those lost and protect the new family he will inevitably bring together.
☻ and lead others into missions (oftentimes dangerous missions).
Network/Actionspam Sample: [Written for another game. If you want one Ruby City centric, I don't mind!]
[The memories of his death - and the deaths of his family - have been wiped from his mind, yet Joker seems fixated on his arm. He only has one and it feels strangely good for it to be whole. But it has always been that way...right?]
Blimey, I've got the morbs. [And that doesn't suit him at all. Giving his head a sharp shake, he recalls his bright, friendly demeanor, though that too seems...dimmer.] Why am I feelin' this way?
Why can't I remember...? [His gut clenches, telling him that maybe he doesn't want to remember. Alright, then. He won't push it. Time to start over.]
Wonder if anyone is lookin' for a Ring Master? I'm sure decked out like one. [Or, rather, how he has always envisioned one.] Le'see... Joker. I guess I shouldn't be too worried if I remember my name!
[He laughs even as his heart aches. Surely that will pass with time. Surely.]
Oh! Have I been recitin' a monologue an' entertaining an audience this whole time? [A cell phone is lifted, examined and he blinks, looking baffled.] Maybe not? I thought I 'eard somethin'.
[But that's not possible. Telephones can work that way, but this thing is too small and it isn't connected to a wall or wires.]
[OOC: * got the morbs means feeling melancholy.]
Prose Log Sample: His consciousness was fading and the pain was becoming bearable, but that shouldn't be. Even the voices of Smile - no Earl Ciel Phantomhive - and Black - his butler - seemed so far away. Joker couldn't quite make out what they were saying anymore. His last thought, in that nearly silent, numb gloom was...
Am I goin' ta meet them?
His family, of course. Dagger, Beast, Doll... All of 'em. If ye didn't make it, well, I didn't either. And, strangely, he was okay with that. What other choice did he have, truly, when his body was shutting down?
Sound returned abruptly and he opened his eyes to find himself sitting aboard a train. This was a curious way to journey to the afterlife, but he wasn't complaining! His seat was nice and cushioned and his arm didn't even hurt anymore.
He turned his head to peer outside the window and saw a platform...and his own reflection. It was impossible to tell what he had just endured! Someone must've touched up his make-up.
Well a showman should always look his best, right?
Thanks.
Though his gratitude was silent, he gave whoever might be watching a little bow before he stepped off of the train and onto the platform. So this was it. This was...
Heaven? Or Hell? Joker couldn't tell right away and that was confusing. Shouldn't it be obvious?
As obvious as the nose on me face, I thought!
"Excuse me...?" he tried to get the attention of a stranger, tucking the arm that was missing its lower half behind his back, "What be the name of this city?"
Joker | Kuroshitsuji | Reserved
Name: Riddle
Age: 30
Personal Journal:
E-mail: Sycophantism@hotmail.com
AIM/etc:
CHARACTER
Name: Joker
Canon: Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler
Age: 25
Timeline: After his death.
Items with character at canon point: His clothes, shoes, hair ties, what's left of his ceramic arm and maybe a dagger or two?
Personality: You will not find a more cheerful bloke than Joker. He is as friendly and welcoming as they come; it is little wonder that he was the Ring-Master for Noah's Ark Circus. However his cheerfulness is oftentimes more for those around him; a facade that allows them to feel at ease. He does not want anyone worrying for him or shouldering his burdens.
As the son of a prostitute, his life has been dreary from the start. He was orphaned at a young age and turned out onto the streets. To make matters worse, he was born without his right arm. Yet, somehow, he survived and even tried to bring others under his wing. Joker is that sort of boy (and now man). He protects, cherishes and even comes to love those who depend on him as family. They are his only family, truly.
Unfortunately his open and caring heart left him vulnerable to manipulation and that was exactly how Baron Kelvin used him. At the moment of his death, Joker was heart-broken, desperate and angry that so little of what he did mattered. It was perhaps a blessing that he never learned none of it mattered (as Ciel and Sebastian discovered later). As he died, Joker revealed the strain he had been under for so long. He hated killing; he hated acquiescing to the Baron's perverted tastes, but even in his agony, he thought of all his "brothers and sisters" who were in a workhouse the Baron protected.
Simply put, Joker does not know how to be selfish. Perhaps his desperation to build and protect a family stems from the fact that he never had one or maybe the act of defending those weaker than himself makes him feel strong. Regardless, there were precious few moments in Joker's life that he thought about what he wanted. The true humanitarian was never Baron Kelvin; it was Joker. He simply lacked the funds to see his "brothers and sisters" properly fed, housed and clothed.
Underneath the face paint and bright demeanor, Joker is a depressed soul. He remembers the faces of everyone he has killed and now he must live with the truth of where his prosthetic arm originated. For all his good deeds (and good intentions), the world has repaid him with yet more agony and sorrow. Yet he is not the sort to remain in the gutter. As long as there is life in him, he will search for those lost and protect the new family he will inevitably bring together.
Background: History and Plot!
Abilities: He knows how to:
☺ get a laugh (mostly at his own expense),
☺ speak to a crowd and hold their attention,
☺ perform sleight of hand,
☺ juggle,
☺ dye his hair/apply his make-up expertly,
☻ wield a dagger and kill swiftly,
☻ and lead others into missions (oftentimes dangerous missions).
Network/Actionspam Sample: [Written for another game. If you want one Ruby City centric, I don't mind!]
[The memories of his death - and the deaths of his family - have been wiped from his mind, yet Joker seems fixated on his arm. He only has one and it feels strangely good for it to be whole. But it has always been that way...right?]
Blimey, I've got the morbs. [And that doesn't suit him at all. Giving his head a sharp shake, he recalls his bright, friendly demeanor, though that too seems...dimmer.] Why am I feelin' this way?
Why can't I remember...? [His gut clenches, telling him that maybe he doesn't want to remember. Alright, then. He won't push it. Time to start over.]
Wonder if anyone is lookin' for a Ring Master? I'm sure decked out like one. [Or, rather, how he has always envisioned one.] Le'see... Joker. I guess I shouldn't be too worried if I remember my name!
[He laughs even as his heart aches. Surely that will pass with time. Surely.]
Oh! Have I been recitin' a monologue an' entertaining an audience this whole time? [A cell phone is lifted, examined and he blinks, looking baffled.] Maybe not? I thought I 'eard somethin'.
[But that's not possible. Telephones can work that way, but this thing is too small and it isn't connected to a wall or wires.]
[OOC: * got the morbs means feeling melancholy.]
Prose Log Sample: His consciousness was fading and the pain was becoming bearable, but that shouldn't be. Even the voices of Smile - no Earl Ciel Phantomhive - and Black - his butler - seemed so far away. Joker couldn't quite make out what they were saying anymore. His last thought, in that nearly silent, numb gloom was...
Am I goin' ta meet them?
His family, of course. Dagger, Beast, Doll... All of 'em. If ye didn't make it, well, I didn't either. And, strangely, he was okay with that. What other choice did he have, truly, when his body was shutting down?
Sound returned abruptly and he opened his eyes to find himself sitting aboard a train. This was a curious way to journey to the afterlife, but he wasn't complaining! His seat was nice and cushioned and his arm didn't even hurt anymore.
He turned his head to peer outside the window and saw a platform...and his own reflection. It was impossible to tell what he had just endured! Someone must've touched up his make-up.
Well a showman should always look his best, right?
Thanks.
Though his gratitude was silent, he gave whoever might be watching a little bow before he stepped off of the train and onto the platform. So this was it. This was...
Heaven? Or Hell? Joker couldn't tell right away and that was confusing. Shouldn't it be obvious?
As obvious as the nose on me face, I thought!
"Excuse me...?" he tried to get the attention of a stranger, tucking the arm that was missing its lower half behind his back, "What be the name of this city?"