Post by ryoko on Mar 13, 2024 16:04:55 GMT
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[attr="class","ntpleftwrap"]  | [attr="class","ntprightwrap"] [attr="class","ntpfirstname"] RYOKO [attr="class","ntplastname"] - [attr="class","ntps1b1"] FEMALE [attr="class","ntps1b2"] 27 YEARS OLD [attr="class","ntps1b3"] HETERO [attr="class","ntps1b4"] KIRIGAKURE [attr="class","ntps1fc"] MAHITO FROM JUJUTSU KAISEN |
[attr="class","ntpsplit"]
[attr="class","ntpsplit2"]appearance
[attr="class","ntps2b1"][attr="class","ntps2st"]HAIR
grey
grey
[attr="class","ntps2b2"][attr="class","ntps2st"]EYES
blue(l)/white(r)
blue(l)/white(r)
[attr="class","ntps2b1"][attr="class","ntps2st"]HEIGHT
5'11" (181cm)
5'11" (181cm)
[attr="class","ntps2b2"][attr="class","ntps2st"]BUILD
bulky/muscular
bulky/muscular
[attr="class","ntps2box"]
Ryoko appears strange and non-descript. Somewhat alien, somewhat familiar. Masculine and feminine qualities. Most people don't quite know what to make of her. She doesn't mind that. She enjoys the confused looks and faces. Some people never get it right, she doesn't mind.
| TENDER, VIOLENT AND QUEER |
[break]Ryoko appears strange and non-descript. Somewhat alien, somewhat familiar. Masculine and feminine qualities. Most people don't quite know what to make of her. She doesn't mind that. She enjoys the confused looks and faces. Some people never get it right, she doesn't mind.
[attr="class","ntpsplit"]
[attr="class","ntpsplit2"]personality
[attr="class","ntps3left"]
clinical / precise / creative / patient / flexible / tempered / prepared / collected / focused / observant / candid / open-minded
[attr="class","ntps2st"]CHARACTER STRENGTHS
[break][break][break]clinical / precise / creative / patient / flexible / tempered / prepared / collected / focused / observant / candid / open-minded
[attr="class","ntps3right"]
selfish / unempathetic / mean / insincere / aloof / dispassionate / frivolous / flippant / greedy / promiscuous / unpredictable / flagrant
[attr="class","ntps2st"]CHARACTER FLAWS
[break][break][break]selfish / unempathetic / mean / insincere / aloof / dispassionate / frivolous / flippant / greedy / promiscuous / unpredictable / flagrant
[attr="class","ntps3left"]
gardening, literature, yoga, gambling, fashion
[attr="class","ntps2st"]LIKES AND INTERESTS
[break][break][break]gardening, literature, yoga, gambling, fashion
[attr="class","ntps3right"]
mad scientist. body horror. medical ninja
[attr="class","ntps2st"]CHARACTER TROPES
[break][break][break]mad scientist. body horror. medical ninja
[attr="class","ntpsplit"]
[attr="class","ntpsplit2"]biography
[attr="class","ntps4box"]
Gentle waves carved stone, dark stars lit up the night. The cries of a child, so fragile, so gentle. Yet so baroque. As limbs lengthened and clarity set in, curiosity followed. She rarely cried. Pain only piquing her interest. Her body a playground. With blood red colors she painted her pictures. There was much to discover. So much to know. But there were limits. Where she could, boundaries were bruised, beaten, carved and tested. Forbidden knowledge taken for granted. Consequences not understood. The price eventually payed. Cast out into the world. Her guiding force, hunted down. Love was lost. The flesh turned to thread was kept hidden, made to keep a promise it would value its life.[break][break]
Lost and found. Again and again. Between chains and corpses. Eventually forlorn in a mist. So dense, so tight, so humid. She lost herself. Until the fog was lifted like the stitching on the seam of a veil unraveling. She was graced by the needle. Groomed for succession. She found herself, standing there. Just as curious, just as bizarre, just as queer as she was the day she was born. So she did what she did best. Bodies upon bodies stacked high. They became canvasses. Her curiosity boundless, her talents nourished by flesh and blood. The flower she had stolen blossomed within her. Flesh turning into threads, she weaved her web in the mist.[break][break]
Succession occurred when age caused more fatigue than flesh and bone could compensate. A destination. Her new purpose to serve. Something she treated like a pastime. Trouble often followed. She broke, mended, carved, stitched skin. Piled up names and faces. Grew and learned of the world. She changed. She enjoyed things now. Sating her thirst when she wanted. Taking what she needed. There was a glimmer of awareness. It was all wrong. Corrupt, rotten, moldy. But she simply worked. Tolerant of the intolerable, she carried on. It rolled off her shoulders, nourished her roots. It was what she knew, what she understood.[break][break]
A child's face appeared. Serious, strong. Eyes that looked past the fog that had set upon the village. They envisioned more, greater things. They were so delightfully naive. Captivating her with their child-like wonder, she lived vicariously through them. There was no allegiance, no loyalty. A simple interest in what they would see next. What they could bring about. A love so pure and innocent, yet again, so baroque. It would carry her through, give her purpose. Offer her guidance she once lost.
[break]| FORGIVE ME FATHER, I HAVE SINNED |
[break]Gentle waves carved stone, dark stars lit up the night. The cries of a child, so fragile, so gentle. Yet so baroque. As limbs lengthened and clarity set in, curiosity followed. She rarely cried. Pain only piquing her interest. Her body a playground. With blood red colors she painted her pictures. There was much to discover. So much to know. But there were limits. Where she could, boundaries were bruised, beaten, carved and tested. Forbidden knowledge taken for granted. Consequences not understood. The price eventually payed. Cast out into the world. Her guiding force, hunted down. Love was lost. The flesh turned to thread was kept hidden, made to keep a promise it would value its life.[break][break]
| I'VE DRAINED MY BODY FULL OF PINS |
[break]Lost and found. Again and again. Between chains and corpses. Eventually forlorn in a mist. So dense, so tight, so humid. She lost herself. Until the fog was lifted like the stitching on the seam of a veil unraveling. She was graced by the needle. Groomed for succession. She found herself, standing there. Just as curious, just as bizarre, just as queer as she was the day she was born. So she did what she did best. Bodies upon bodies stacked high. They became canvasses. Her curiosity boundless, her talents nourished by flesh and blood. The flower she had stolen blossomed within her. Flesh turning into threads, she weaved her web in the mist.[break][break]
| I'VE DANCED 'TIL DAWN WITH SPLINTERED SHINS |
[break]Succession occurred when age caused more fatigue than flesh and bone could compensate. A destination. Her new purpose to serve. Something she treated like a pastime. Trouble often followed. She broke, mended, carved, stitched skin. Piled up names and faces. Grew and learned of the world. She changed. She enjoyed things now. Sating her thirst when she wanted. Taking what she needed. There was a glimmer of awareness. It was all wrong. Corrupt, rotten, moldy. But she simply worked. Tolerant of the intolerable, she carried on. It rolled off her shoulders, nourished her roots. It was what she knew, what she understood.[break][break]
| FULL OF PINS, FULL OF PINS |
[break]A child's face appeared. Serious, strong. Eyes that looked past the fog that had set upon the village. They envisioned more, greater things. They were so delightfully naive. Captivating her with their child-like wonder, she lived vicariously through them. There was no allegiance, no loyalty. A simple interest in what they would see next. What they could bring about. A love so pure and innocent, yet again, so baroque. It would carry her through, give her purpose. Offer her guidance she once lost.
