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*grumbles*
Name: Frederick Camus St. Shariff
Age: Between 20 and 30.
Persona and Appearance: Tall, black hair, blue eyes, with thin wry muscles deceptive in appearance. Rather strong and agile, but has poor stamina. Does not like the heat or the cold, and prefers springtime temperatures. Often is found wearing blazers and semi-formal wear, complete with steel-tipped dress shoes.
He is rather enigmatic, but easy going at the same time. There is very little about his personality that slants him too much one way, or the other, save his distaste for spinach pie, brussel sprouts, and vegans. He seems to be happiest when eating filet mignon (medium rare).
Zanpakutou: Grace Alara
A 0.8m long silver blade with a gilded lion's head acting as a guard, the main spiraling outward and down to form a two-handed handle capped with a pommel. The words 'Grace Alara' are engraved in flowing English script upon both sides of the blade.
Statistics
Tairyoku: E
Reiatsu: E
Sentou: E (25)
Western Swords
Eastern Swords
Bare-handed
Hohou: E (25)
Kidou: E
Enishi: E
Biography: He's not Seireitei.
Instead, he's one of several rogue shinigami who like keeping to themselves and trying desperately not to be discovered; and for good reason. Labeled as 'freaks,' 'misfits,' 'crazy people,' and 'Republicans,' such almost 'human' shinigami would certainly be thrown into jail cells somewhere or worse, reconditioned to serve in a military they know nothing of. Thankfully, Frederick had a close friend when he happened to catch a red-haired girl falling from the sky one day ....
"Why don't you come with me for a moment?" A smile. "There's someone I'd like you to meet ...."
And so began the tale of Alara and the Painted Tiger ....
Writing Sample
"Your attempt, to put it bluntly, was a disgrace." There was a crack and Frederick nearly felt his eyes bulge from his sockets from the sudden disorientation of an amazingly well-timed and executed concussion to the base of his neck.
"Do you seriously want to do this, or not." Frederick had then unfortunately decided to lift his head toward the direction of the voice, and earned himself two beautiful black eyes. He was sent onto his ass without any sort of dignity, trying now not to grimace at the pain he was feeling.
He then flinched when he heard a footstep, but no further beatings came.
"Sir ...?"
He regretted saying anything when he felt his cheekbones snap from yet another blow.
"Don't call me 'sir.' Now, up." Frederick quickly scrambled to his feet, knowing full well that non-compliance was the perfect justification for him to earn a few more broken bones. For him to earn, not for someone else to have a reason to give.
That thought made all the difference.
What was he trying to do again? Oh, wait, now he remembered. Frederick extended his left hand and tried desperately to do something right. Something. Anything. He was hoping that wisps of light would be convalescing from the atmosphere, hopefully in the discrete form of a ...
"Failure." But just as he instantly retracted his hands to prevent what was sure to be another affliction of brain damage, there was a flash, as though someone had quickly turned a light bulb on, and then off.
Frederick felt relieved. Maybe he could do it after all. Maybe he was making progress. Maybe he was making enough progress that his teacher wouldn-
"Again."
And Frederick sighed, and that was all.
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[???][Week 0] Frederick Blue
