I Know I'm Amazing

15/6/12 at 0:38am
· origin · via ·

» Ogami Lang, 24, laborer

There’s not much to say about Ogami Lang, or rather, he’s being rather tight-lipped about himself and his past in the Fire Nation. Of course, to get past immigration he had to divulge some sort of story, the same story that he consistently shares with curious coworkers who wish to know more about the quiet firebender.

He grew up on a small island at the northern-most tip of the Fire Nation archipelago, a little place that was always out-of-touch with the main southern islands. In fact, sometimes they seemed more Water Tribe than Fire Nation, with a love for the ocean and seal fat when they could get it. Centuries upon centuries of living out here, so isolated from the southern-most Fire Nation, and in fact, quite different from their countrymen down in warmer shores, this tiny little island developed its own culture that combined Fire Nation ingenuity with Water Tribe spirituality.

One hundred years of War did little to squash the established culture that this cold little island thrived in; and resident stubbornness even in the face of their “fellow Fire Nation countrymen” telling them all that they knew was wrong earned nothing but fire and ice thrown back in retaliation. Needless to say, the island became a reluctant “refuel” station, not even the most ideal or strategic of places to base naval ships for their campaign against the Northern Water Tribe and by fortune the island was mercifully left untouched, and allowed to continue in its strange mix of Fire Nation and Water Tribe customs.

Shortly after the war, then, did this little place receive a boon. The Northern Water Tribe knew that old bloodlines lead to this place in Fire Nation territory and resumed friendly (But strained) trade with this place at first. This eventually lead to friendlier meetings between people, and inevitably, romance and a return to the sort-of understanding between Fire Nation and Water Tribe, right here in this insignificant speck of land in the middle of nowhere.

In this place Ogami was born, the son of a fire-bending fisherman and his wife, who proudly wore his engagement necklace with its red silk cloth. His parents were kind, but poor people who had little to spare for their growing brood of children. All boys, all tall and broad and strong as a Polar Bear Dog; Ogami and his brothers were the talk of the town and were known for their shows of strength and courage.

But as the third-oldest Ogami had a precarious position; his oldest brother would inherit his father’s fishing boat, his second eldest brother their mother’s stall. His younger brother was a smart, and bright young fellow – perhaps the brightest of their village – and he was an excellent water-bender who was actually quite good at the healing arts. His parents discussed sending him to the far north to train now that sex wasn’t definitive of career paths, and healers made good money besides…

Now Ogami had his qualities, sure, and his parents loved him, but he wasn’t like his brother who excelled at fishing and hunting, or his other brother who was a true salesman, nor was he like his youngest brother who was a prodigy with bending. Sure, he could fire-bend and even lightning-bend decently, and he understood the principle of the forms, and the importance of breathing, but the fact remained that there was no space for Ogami out here on this tiny island. Nor was there room for him to expand north; no one needed fire-benders to melt snow when a water-bender was good enough for that.

So his only option for the future was to turn southward, towards the capital and the glittering city in the scorching sun. And there he stayed for a few years…

… And now he’s here, in Republic City. This is the part of his story that Ogami likes to rush through; he made it down south, worked at factories for a few years, but sadly there was enough prejudice against country bumpkins like him. They especially seemed to detest half-Water Tribe mongrels like him, and oh yes they knew he was half because his size, his nose, his hair gave it away. He could bend fire and call lightning to his fingertips as well as any “pure” Fire Nation resident, but alas even seventy years after some old fires still haven’t cooled down.

Simply put, he had no desire or tolerance to stay in such a place: if he had to provide for himself and his family he might as well make money in a place where people were decent to each other.

So he scraped up the money to purchase a ticket onto the next possible boat to Republic City, and here he is, making it big in a beautiful city, a tolerant city.

… Of course, if anyone knew a thing about liars, they could tell that this sob-story that would stir the hearts of stony-faced immigrant officials and the tears of the dames during lunch-break was all a load of phooie.

There’s something that Ogami is trying to hide, and it can be seen in the way that he twitches, or that he rubs his left arm, a nervous tick. Sure he seems to be a gentle giant, and certainly as a former Fire Nation resident he should be used to the heat, but he comes to work everyday with long-sleeves and an overcoat. Or especially in the way that he reacts, falling silent, whenever the Triads are brought up, because it’s so hard to tell who’s a Triple Threat, you know, they don’t mark themselves like Fire Nation gangs do.

Because don’t you know, they have these tests to prove loyalty and all, so they make their men do horrible things to themselves, they mutilate their bodies, cut off fingers…

Oh but that’s exaggeration, why waste a good man? No, what they actually do is make them get full-body tattoos, it starts on the back but then it grows till its covering even their arms.

So, while Ogami may be tight-lipped, there is an air of mystery about him. He eats alone at lunch time, giving ample room for his coworkers to gossip, to giggle to themselves that maybe the hulking, “gentle” giant that loves manjuu buns and dumplings is actually a Fire Nation thug on the run.

(He was the bodyguard of a Boss. And he was in love with the Boss’s daughter. But then the Boss found out and he was planning on killing him but the daughter saved his life and now he’s here, in shame — that’s this week’s biography for one Mr. Lang)

He lets his coworkers gossip, lets the floor managers shout at them to stop wasting time, because he’s proved himself to be a good worker, although rumors may say otherwise. He’s been in the Republic for half a year now and has been nothing but loyal, obedient, hard-working and uncomplaining; he even takes extra shifts, and covers for other coworkers for little to no extra pay. Really, he’s a good guy.

And he’s nice enough to let gossip go without a growl or a broken nose.

After all the best stories must have some truth to them.

» follow Ogami

Posted: 1 year ago with 4 notes (Reblog)
Tags: #OOC

14/6/12 at 21:25pm
· origin · via ·

midnightcityrp:

» Mako, 18, probender

His childhood years have the kind of smokey edges of a dream — something that he knew happened, but sometimes cannot distinguish if they were real.

He remembers his father and his dashing red scarf, dropping his lunch tin upon the table only to sweep his mother into his arms and then swing each of his boys up and into the air with much gusto. His father was a laboring scholar, who knew all sorts of stories because he found aesthetic pleasure in reading and was quitegoodat it but often teased that his arithmetic was not good enough to secure him a scholarship to university.

(“Work hard at school and especially at those numbers, my boys, so you can get into the University — you’ll be set for life.”)

He remembers his mother with her soothing voice and her warmth, and the irresistible smell of almond cookies, homemade dumplings, and —a few times during the summer months when they could afford all the paraphernalia—shaved ice topped with colorful syrups, rice cakes, jellies, and fresh fruit. He remembers her smiles, the way she’d sigh sometimes, and blow a stray strand of hair from her face as she watched her boys play in the yard. Or the times when she would beckon him close, a pair of torn trousers or a shirt or something else the neighbors needed fixing at a price in piles at her worktable.

(“Come here, Mako, I need your sharp eye to help line this thread right here.)

And then, of course, there’s Bolin who has been his constant companion for as long as he could remember, but even those memories of their childhood before it all came crashing down have a hazy, dream-like quality about them.

Thatnightis something he doesn’t like to remember in all its grisly detail. But the sad thing is, it’s all he can remember about the final moment of his mother and father. He’s not sure why Bolin wasn’t with them, inseparable as they were, because all he can remember is his father shouting“No!”  his mother’s scream and suddenly he’s shielded from everything as fire engulfseverythingand his parents are no more in a sudden surge of brightness…

However, the precise truth of his childhood ishisalone and he has precious few possessions already; what exactly transpired nearly ten years ago and even before then is something he’d rather keep private.

Everything else is easier, and it all happens in a whirling series of events that are everything but unfortunate.

With the death of their parents, and no one willing to step in as guardian, Republic City appropriated their property and assets. As a child, Mako was too numb to understand what was going on as he and a crying Bolin watched Metalbenders swarm their house and take most of their things. (Corruption and graft run rampant just about anywhere, you know)

All he could do was grab Bolin, a handful of things that busy fingersdidn’tsnatch up the first time around, and out the door they went never to return again. The cops might have been a sham, but Mako was sure that no petty thief would bother to dress up as an orphanage official if one were to come knocking at their door, and herefusedto be separated from his brother, the only family he had left.

  For a time they lived and worked from a base of operations underneath a bridge; it kept out most of the rain and the snow, and with discarded plank-wood and one of the blankets snatched from their family home they made a decent lean-to. They shared fire and body-heat as Mako worked out how to eke a living out on the streets, trying to keep ahead of their dwindling money and food supplies each day.

If there was one thing he was determined to do for the rest of his life (And still does to this day), it was to keep his brother safe, to try and give him a home when all else was lost. He played the role of father, mother, and brother all in one and started, at first, to try and be the “honorable”, outstanding citizen his parents would have been proud of.

Of course, honest work for a child is hard to find. They both relied on “trick bending” during the warmer months, rushing to-and-fro along crowded streets and in front of the train station when it used to be a bustling commuter center. It was all chump change, really, but Mako was a man of honor and during his time of childish idealism he believed he could make it this way, this good and honest way.

But then he learned that maybe pick-pocketing would be a more lucrative pay-off.

He and Bolin were a team, one provided the distraction and the other nabbed the goods. And the goods were not necessarily money, either, but more often than not bobbles and trinkets that they pawned to sellers who didn’t ask where little boys came across such expensive watches or jewelry. Sometimes they stole handkerchiefs and fans made of ivory or broken, expensive purses tossed into the rubbish heaps; nights at his mother’s side paid off when Mako repaired the tiniest of tears, or even unstitched the initials on the fanciest of kerchiefs and the folds of cloth fans to sell right back to dealers.

They were an affective pair, and more often than not, got away unscathed from these encounters.

But they made perhaps their best — or maybe worst — haul when they easily picked the pockets of one young and brash “Shady” Shin. They got everything from his pocket-watch to an ivory bone comb and even a nice metal tin that held some kind of alcohol, and theyshouldhave gotten away with it, if it weren’t for a miscalculation.

Shin wasn’t bright about pickpockets, but his companion at the time was and hastily brought the theft to Shin’s attention. Shin also wasn’t merciful and as a young teenager slowly rising up in the underground crime syndicate his fury was terrifying.

His punishment should have left them half-dead, battered and bruised and flogged thoroughly with water, if Mako and Bolin were lesser fighters. But Mako was always, always infuriatingly calm under pressure, because he had control over his breathing unlike any other street rat Shin ever had to deal with.

He tried restraining the kid with ice, Mako burned it away, he clamped a hand over his mouth to keep him from roaring fire, but he “sneezed” it out anyway, and each time he tried to get an arm under control, there’d be a leg waiting to kick up embers — all in all it wasn’t a fun experience for Shin.

As for Mako, it was a moment of truth, as he glared down Shin and his companion, as Bolin cowered in the corner for only a moment before he too surged up to fight back — sending rocks and dirt and brick at the other bender while Mako made Shin’s work hell. Fortunately (Or maybe not) for them, they were watched and as Shin backed off, panting and frustrating and mad that a little snot-nosed-brat was giving him such a hard time… it all stopped.

The rest is another blur as Mako found himself and Bolin congratulated and then “offered” a job by a leering, large man, with too-white teeth and a smile that reminded him of a dragon. From that day on they were “honorary members” of the Triple Threat Triad, and were allowed to sleep in the back of the restaurant that served as a front for their operations, so long as they did a few odd jobs for them.

Mostly they ran numbers, hustling to and fro because no one would care for two little boys, slowly growing into two young men, running “errands” for their parents at local shop-keeps. Finally out of the miserable cold and rain of their bridge they kept two corners and a warm fire as long as they did a few less-than-legal things, but Mako was fine with that; he and his brother were safe, and they got some money out of it besides warm lodgings.

In fact, they started to fill out more under the watchful eye of the restaurant’s cooks who sent them out on their own errands with dumplings, cookies, and spare change as rewards for lifting heavy crates or gathering deliveries. For growing boys, this morally gray way of life was a gift; they didn’t have to go to school (Although distantly he remembered once wishing to go to Republic City University) and they had all day to run around andtrain.

Most importantly they were allowed to train and grow stronger, because as much as some of the members of the Triple Threats loved to bait them and pitch water, fire, and earth at them for cheap shots, there were also those who wereconcernedwith the littlest members of their gang. There were some days when Mako was taken aside to get a few rounds in, his fire-bending technique improving under the tutelage of some of the Tripe Threat’s toughest thugs who weren’tgoodbecause they weretechnicallyadept at Fire Bending, but because they knew how to keep their wits about them in a street fight.

Improvised moves, speed over form, ruthlessness but deadly calm under pressure was what Mako was taught amongst the Triple Threat’s best firebenders underneath Lightning Bolt Zolt. And true to their ringleader’s legendary name, some of his best underlings and Mako’s teachers were also able to bend lightning, and Mako learned the art as well. It was suited for him and for that inner calm in the face of his chaotic life, and once someone had said that lightning-bending was useful to kill and also as a “cover”.

(“They’ve got mooks goin’ in and out of those factories everyday, kid, if you ever need to hang low but don’t got the funds to do so for the long term, just get a factory job. No one notices nothin’ unless you mess their nest.”)

This was all valuable wisdom that Mako kept on hand, especially when the Triple Threats stopped asking him and his brother to run numbers. They started out small, just “security” work now that he and Bolin were taller and more imposing and definitely filling out with muscle. They spent many a night standing in front of the restaurant, ever vigilant in case something went down.

The new position was exciting, it meant more money coming their way and it was different and maybe, for just a second, Mako was actually proud of this new job.

It all went to hell when a meeting with the Agni Kais didn’t go so well and the restaurant eddied up in smoke and flames. Since they were a front, they also had civilian customers who expected nothing of the sort, but the screams and the fury that was going on inside made Mako change his mind about being proud of this kind of work.

Especially when he and Bolin tore through Agni Kais that tried to flee the scene; they knocked their heads together, crushed and electrocuted those that retaliated, and he distinctly remembers managing to toss a very light Agni Kai grunt halfway across the street. Civilians stormed out, some dragging their companions behind, others left in the smoke.

Then they raced inside to assess the damage – some people caught up underneath tables, fires scorching the drapes, and the still body of one of the cooks halfway out the kitchen door, broken, battered, and dress torn. She was also the one who would kindly give them cookies-– it made Mako sick.

Some of his teachers, those few “friends” of his who took the time to train him were dead, one with half his face burned, the other missing two fingers… “Shady” Shin seemed to get out unscathed, but that was because instead of fighting he hid, and that made Mako’s blood boil because out there were civilians who got hurt, civilians who still worked for them, or patronized their front store even thought they knew it was owned by the Triple Threats and no one did anything to protect them.

Mako vowed to never have anything to do with the Triple Threats again, moral ambiguity be damned.

They “quit” then, taking the money and the clothes on their backs and, once more, they took to the streets. They had enough to maybe rent out a tenement in the poorer area of town, but having money was the ticket to just about anything. Mako was not going to lose their “hard-earned” yuans so easily, the scraps he put together after years of working with the Triple Threats.

They took to the streets for a short amount of time, staying out of Triple Threat territory as Mako tried to find a way for “honest” work but found himself more often than not turned down. Even those factories, once promised as a potential source of income, wouldn’t hire a day laborer without “proof of address” if only to keep homeless and desperate men away.

Luck, though, was ever on their side. One day they were accosted by some thugs hoping to make an easy steal but their training underneath the Triple Threats ensured an easy victory. And their style, coordination, and their determination to not seriously injure or kill any of their attackers earned the praise of one former pro-bender, Toza, who saw in them a spark ofsomething.

So long as they promised to do odd-jobs around the pro-bending arena, ranging from moving heavy equipment to powering up the back-up generator for the arena and all sorts of other odd-jobs, they were allowed to stay. Toza was getting old and he needed good hands to help him out, and besides, they showed potential – the kind of “rags-to-riches” potential that always made a good story, and as Mako would learn, Toza always bet on the underdog to win.

Now, Mako and his brother happily live at the arena doing the sort of “honest work” that would have made their parents proud after the years underneath the Triple Threats. Sometimes they take out extra factory jobs, Mako now smugly showing his proof of residence with a wink and a whistle. It’s back-breaking work and it drains his energy, but it feels so good to know that he’s keeping Bolin safe, warm, and happy legally.

He’ll even tolerate his brother’s playboy status, and the random girls he brings in at nights, so long as they keep quiet to let Mako brood on his life and although it’s tragic, how determined he is to keep it going up, and up, and up.

From petty thieves, to thugs, to (hopefully) pro-benders — they’ll be safe, and happy, and secure. And Mako is damn proud of that.

Their pro-bending skills are slowly, but surely, improving, and after a year of training with Toza in-between odd-jobs they are ready to tackle the sports field. Of course… Maybe if they had a better water-bender things would be easier for them but as of now, Mako has little to complain about – everything seems to be going well for him, after all.

» follow link forthcoming

Posted: 1 year ago with 9 notes (Reblog)
Tags: #OOC

13/6/12 at 18:40pm
· origin · via ·

I Know I’m Amazing: Meeting Tahno CONT.

riverchildkeeran:

I Know I’m Amazing: Meeting Tahno CONT.

riverchildkeeran:

Keeping her light blue eyes focused on the back of the taller beings head, she kept close behind, making sure not to get lost on their little trek. The ever so delightful sound of waves crashing gently upon the shore line rang in her ears, a happy sigh slipping past her…

“I suppose I can’t say much seeing as I’ve never witnessed a match. I’ll trust in you upon that though.” The male before her was definitely interesting, and both like and unlike how his fans and the papers portrayed him. The slight twinges in his voice brought a light chuckle to spew forth from her once more, this being the first time since she sat down that she stopped writing. “More interesting?”

Dark brown strands of hair tilted downwards as she cocked her head to the side, once more being enamoured with the thought of being shown such knowledge and practice. Ever since the woman was small, she was always curious about bending, and despite being a bender herself, preffered to watch and study others in how they moved. “I can imagine trying to showcase probending skills without a partner or opponent to be quite….difficult?” Even so, Keeran greatly appreciated the fact that Tahno was taking the time to show her his skills, considering he could be doing really anything he wanted to. She watched as he came to a standstill, and immediately shut her own mouth as to not disturb his focus and concentration.

As the waves crashed upon the shore, her eyes reclaimed their focus, watching as he moved in rhythm with the fluidity of the water. He wasn’t kidding when he’d said that this’d be far more interesting, but perhaps, it was more because of the slight scoff she’d made that he felt the need to show off. She chuckled again, growing more and more curious about the male before her, wanting to learn more about his bending skills and prowess. Light droplets of water splashed about towards her, the side effects of bending such a large force causing a gentle spray. As the whips moved, she could hear the cracking of the boulder, a slight uneasy feeling building in her gut as she slowly inched away, lest she get caught up in the aftermath.

The piece of the boulder fell about around her, Keeran jumping in her seat out of sheer instinct. It was obvious he was showing off, but she didn’t mind nor care. Setting her journal to her side, she pushed herself up from her seat, clapping in approval of the show she’d been given. “Definitely interesting, to say the least.”

Tahno spread his arms wide and bowed low, smug smile gracing his thin lips. The applause had at least partially indulged the young man’s ego. Though, he had of course hoped for more, no matter, he could tell the display had been impressive. Raising back up, the watebender combed a hand through his wavy hair, removing any stray strands.

“My dear, I can see you’re not one to go heavy on praise,” he said, voice still airy from a slight lack of breath. “Though, maybe I could find a way to remedy that?” with a tilt of the head, the probender rose his brows. The desire to have this stubborn woman call his name in awe, whether from his skills at waterbending or skills in other areas, was nagging at him. Praise to him was sustenance, more so than any traditional food. In fact, he could be called a glutton for it.

“Do tell me, would you like to see more bending?” said Tahno, taking a step towards Keeran. Pale eyes caught sight of the girl’s notebook, but he made no comment. If she was a journalist or something of the sort, well, he’d be sure she had nothing but compliments to write about him.

(( OOC: Sorry, that came out a little short. :P ))

Posted: 1 year ago with 7 notes (Reblog)