Post by Lovino Vargas on Jan 12, 2012 21:54:53 GMT -5
Full Name: Lovino Vargas
Gender:
Age: 17
Height: 172 cm/5”7
Weight: 65.5 kg/144 lbs
Country of Origin: Italy (Sicily)
Family: [Up for discussion when applicable!]
Immediate: Feliciano Vargas
Possibilities: Rome, Seborga
Student Year/Job Position: Junior
Appearance:
Lovino is of medium build and height. He isn’t muscular, but more on the lean side with deposits of baby fat evident on his frame. Eating all of that pasta and being too lazy to hit up a gym has its consequences—not that he really cares. As long as he can still fit into, and look nice, in his clothes. He has dark brown hair, an olive skin complexion, and hazel green eyes. There’s a certain hair curl of his that’s become a distinctive feature of his, as well as a weak point. Anyone that touches it without his permission is bound to experience a mix between a violent and embarrassed reaction. No one knows exactly why.
Personality: On the surface, Lovino Vargas appears to be the pure embodiment of a man in a constantly foul mood with even a grosser use of foul language—his facial expression seems to not know much of a range outside of constantly frowning or scowling. In every sense, he lives up to the stereotype of your typical, hot-blooded Italian man.
The rougher sides of his persona are strictly reserved to his interactions with men, as he tends to be quite the antisocial butterfly around both them and strangers. When with women, however, his natural Italian charm flips on like a switch—Lovino will become friendly and flirtatious, which could lead one to wonder if they were really observing the same volatile person from just moments ago. Despite the jarring nature of his prickly exterior, what lies beneath Lovino is someone more cowardly and sensitive, bogged down by self-induced anxieties that run rampant when left alone to ponder. In short, while Lovino is rude and short-tempered, when it comes down to it, he is a softie that is uncomfortable with expressing himself properly; he fears the susceptibility of leaving his defenses down. Not to say that he’s incapable of doing as such; he’s just not regularly inclined to do as much. His curses and threats honestly are not meant to be taken seriously, as anyone who comes to know him long enough will realize—it’s just how he communicates; unless he really hates you.
Over the years, he has come to develop a bit of an inferiority complex, believing himself not to be of much value in comparison to other people. It isn’t something he tells himself consciously, though it remains evident in his mannerisms.
Lovino’s view of the world around him can be described as bleak and severely biased, mainly due to his background and connection concerning the mafia. Attending school far away from his native home is meant to be a means of escaping that past—though Lovino himself is helpless in completely diffusing away the impression left on him from a criminally-centric upbringing. Over the years, he’s picked up on “mob” like habits, such as petty thievery/breaking and entering. He’s also handy with guns and knows how to work a switch blade, among other minor tricks which he doesn’t hesitate to indulge when his hands hands fall idle. Although he tends to dwell on the lazy side of the spectrum involving most situations, when driven, he’s known to have a very keen sense of work ethic. Money, a pack of cigarettes, or bottles of wine are great motivators—though he’s always willing to bargain. He lives by his own (wayward) moral code, partly influenced by his religious upbringing.
To those Lovino does care about, he is entirely capable of showing that he does care—even if they may come out in awkward, fidgety attempts peppered in stuttering and colorful curse words. He still hasn’t mastered the art of expressing his feelings clearly, though his efforts in most situations can be realized. He can still be endearing, nonetheless. During sober, serious, or in moments of despair, Lovino can develop a type of strength he wouldn’t expect from himself otherwise, and come out fighting tooth and nail for the person or cause he believes in—whether that fighting be literal or figurative.
Likes:
+ Tomatoes: “They’re hella delicious, vaffanculo.”
They're his weakness. They’re in his favorite foods (spaghetti, pizza, lasagna, etc). He eats them the way one would eat apples or drink water on a daily and regular basis.
+ Women “Ciao bella. Please, let me take you out to dinner?”
He is a ladies’ man at heart. Whether it be for flirting or simple company, Lovino enjoys pleasing them and feels quite comfortable around them. You’d be surprised at the lengths he’d go in order to impress a gal just to see her lovely smile.
+ Siestas “Fuck this shit, I’m going to sleep.”
He’s in a long-term relationship with his bed, to say the very least. If left with nothing else to do, he could sleep away an entire day and not regret a single thing.
+ Agriculture ”Y-Yeah, and so what if I garden? Got a problem bastard?”
In habit from his youth, he’s very fond of gardening, used to the process of planting and actually growing his own food to eat. He finds it both relaxing and enjoyable.
+ Warm Weather ”...What the hell do you mean it snows here?”
His native Sicily is known for pleasant, beach-like weather year-round. Anything below an acceptable, warm temperature is actually more than enough to make Lovino crankier than usual as well as sick.
+ Cooking “Che cazzo! You call this food? Do you want me to cut off your tongue?!”
Like gardening, it’s another hobby he finds relaxing and is decently good at. Lovino is also a food elitist. He tends to firmly believe that Italian anything preserves all else, food being the number one component in this department. He’ll make you the best plate of pasta ever and try to make you convince of that fact.
Dislikes:
+ Being compared or looked down upon “Rub it my face, why don’t you. Jackass.”
It takes a heavy blow to his ego and makes him feel useless, which he hates most of all.
+ Fighting “Jesus Christ, just leave me alone…or I’ll really shoot you in the kneecaps.”
He isn’t the best at it, and also finds it very stupid. While his attitude (and sometimes, threats) may suggest that he’s prone to violence, in actuality, he’s pretty much against it.
+ The Mafia “…Don't mention that around me.”
They’re nothing but criminals and bullies who feed in corruption. He gets easily annoyed at people who think of them as “cool.”
+ Obnoxious People “Fuck. Off. Right. Now.”
Self-explanatory. Lovino doesn’t do well with tolerating people who annoy him; he lashes out at the drop of a dime.
Strengths:
○ Speed
He is adept at running away from danger. However, his swiftness can also double as strength for his pick-pocketing ventures, which does require that very speed and stealth.
○ Stubbornness
Believes the ends always justify the means (Machiavelli). Once his mind’s made up on a particular matter, he’ll barrel on forward, doing whatever he needs to do in order to achieve the desired final result.
○ Gut Instinct
While he may not be the brightest crayon in the box or always properly utilize logic, he’s been able to make it far and out of some tight squeezes based on “right” or “wrong” feelings alone.
○ Tough Appearance
The bristly facade he puts up proves to be more than enough at keeping basic trouble at bay.
○ Wariness
Since he does not trust easily, he won’t take anything at face value and has a keen, subconscious eye in seeking out ulterior motives in other people.
Weaknesses:
✘ Coward
He’s inwardly a crybaby who would rather avoid danger, fighting, and any other terrifying threats, stressors, or complications at all costs.
✘ Inferiority Complex
He often perceives others as better than himself, which holds his potential back and fires him greatly up if pointed out in any manner.
✘ Jealousy
He easily becomes green with envy over things or people he views as fallen into his tenure—and it’s pretty obvious when he is sulking from it.
✘ Traditionalist
He's fairly adverse towards trying new things. He'd much rather stick with what he knows; therefore it's difficult to get him out of his box.
✘ Short Tempered
Being quick to jump to conclusions and quite defensive of himself, he’s very prone to snapping out on other people, where they deserve it or not.
Fears:
- Loneliness
He doesn’t make it easy getting close, but at the same token, fears being left alone without friends or anyone to care about him.
- Vulnerability
Opening himself to other people scares him. In that scenario, other people are given the opportunity to hurt him. It’s already happened too many times for his liking.
- Losing Himself
There’s a pestering thought in the back of his mind that makes Lovino think his separation from his previous life won’t last for long. He’s scared that he’ll be pulled back into the underground one day, and never be able to escape from it.
History:
Lovino was born in the eternal city of Rome, but grew up in Sicily, having moved there by the age of four. He was separated from his immediate family for reasons still unknown to him to this present day. All he was able to comprehend from such an action was that he didn’t belong. That he wasn’t wanted or loved enough to stick around and so, was shoved into the recesses of Italy where sea and land made excellent barriers.
He was a sweet child back then who only saved his tears from the solitude he felt to his pillows in the depths of night. There was no one he could turn to for comfort; he learned quickly the ins and outs of being able to cope. He refused to let his existence fade out into nothing—rather, he found incentive in himself to continue moving forward, without looking back, without asking questions. He was far too frightened to learn of what answers might have brought.
In Sicily, Lovino lived in a very small, sleepy town where the natural scenery provided more wealth than the actual economy. He resided with distant family members who left him without much guidance. Therefore, Lovino literally raised on the streets, where he learned how to pick pockets and gamble. It wasn’t uncommon to find him lingering around market places until late, playing cards or jacks with both other wayward children like himself as well as grown adults. The latter attributed to the progression of cramming in bad language before learning how to form a proper sentence sans profanity.
Despite this, Lovino still expected to engage two specific activities as enforced by his guardians: to attend mass on Sundays and to go to school—his grades were surprisingly good.
Still, he found himself severely bullied by older children—and like a pair of hands calloused from hard work, Lovino developed a rough exterior to shield his true nature, that nature being one of a coward riddled in insecurities. Eventually, he found protection and a kind of belonging in the Cosa Nostra. Little did he know at the time how much of an impact that would make on his livelihood. Being thirteen years of age at the time, promised nothing but rewards of respect and glamor, Lovino was unable to see past the various warnings he received and signed himself away blindly.
A caporegime impressed with his thievery skills took Lovino under his wing as an associate. In exchange for delivering small packages of things like drugs and guns wrapped in cloth, Lovino received nice things. Nice things such as clothing, without holes, shoes that weren’t quickened to the sole, money to do with as he pleased, and a bit of warm attention that he lacked at home. In his mind, there was nothing that could ruin the perfect portrait of the cushy life he had always dreamed of.
Too bad he had spoken too soon.
---
She was a lovely woman, perhaps no older than twenty two; an American who happened to owe money but had no means of paying up.
At sixteen, in a routine visit delivering goods to his boss’s home, Lovino had stumbled upon the scene of her body drowned in a puddle of blood. His boss had casually twirled the gun in his head and looked at him. Smiling.
It was in that moment the dark truth had been unveiled to him; he’d soon have to kill in order to prove his loyalty or become a victim of a murder in failing to do so. It wasn’t until he had seen his first dead body that Lovino realized he needed to escape out of the deep hole he had buried himself in—there was no way he could involve anyone else in his horror, not even the police. They’d much sooner arrest him for cooperating with the mafia. Either way, Lovino knew that the longer he remained in Italy, the closer he was towards his own arrest or violent end.
The question that came next was how? How would he be able to escape?
As he searched for options, studying abroad became a viable one in the form of a peculiar invite from World W Academy. The UK certainly wasn’t far enough, but Lovino was desperate and the invite was ridiculously convenient as far as studying abroad went. Once decided upon, Lovino made plans his plans and accommodations in stealth.
Without telling a single soul and not much baggage in his name, he purchased a plane ticket and disappeared into the night, with no goodbyes and only a speck of regret for not having closure with his family.
Lovino told himself that after graduating from the academy that he would leave Europe and settle down in America—somewhere warm where he would be able to take care of a vast tomato garden in peace at last. That he would continue to fight against whatever invisible bad luck seemed to have it out for him. That he would make someone out of himself, past mistakes and regrets be damned.
Little did Lovino know, fate had other surprises in store for him at the academy.
Weapon: Gun [Pierce]
Statistics:
ST (Strength) 2
MA (Magic) 9
EN (Endurance) 4
Persona: The Princess Of The Crystal
Description: Eccentric, shrewd, sensual, mischievous, blatant and yet enigmatic by the same margin, she claims to have gone by many names and forms throughout the course of time. In the end, she appears to be a timeless energy source thickly shrouded in the cloak of various female mythic archetypes. As once stated by Roman poet Ovid, “Goddess who admits by her unsteady wheel her own fickleness; she always has its apex beneath her swaying foot.”
Her best known phrase is, “Let us initiate a strategy to survive!”
Name: The Princess of the Crystal (La Principessa del Cristallo) – Diana
Arcana: The Moon
Positive Associations: Imagination, unexpected opportunities, illumination, sensitivity, development
Negative Associations: Fear, confusion, anxiety, highly charged emotions, bewilderment, lies, deceit, secrets
Statistics:
Drain: Dark
Weak: Light
Resist: Fire
Repel: Wind
Block: ---
Skills:
PASSIVE SKILL: Endure - > Survive being knocked unconscious once per battle with 1 HP remaining.
MULTIPLE TARGET SKILL: Mamudo -> Mamudoon
3 SINGLE TARGET SKILLS:
Mudo -> Mudoon -> Die for Me!
Double Fangs -> Torrent Shot -> Vile Assault -> Primal Force
Assault Dive -> Kill Rush -> Gigantic Fist -> God's Hand
Role-play Sample:
- From HetaOni Roleplay
Veneziano was holding onto him so tight, Romano thought for a moment his spine could snap and he’d break in half and be that much more ineffective in being able to soothe his brother’s frantic nerves. Now that they were in close proximity, it seemed as if the threshold of both their feelings were heightened and amplified thanks to their mental link. He felt Veneziano’s tears soak into the material of his clothing, but he didn’t care. He continued to stroke his hair and even hum at him a lulling tune, his knuckles soon running down the curve of his neck to reach his back, fingers digging into his clothes and only pulling his other half closer to him. Romano picked up on Feliciano’s words, the Italian more easily then the sputtering of English that escaping his lips.
Clearing his throat, Romano took a step back from his brother, instead of embracing him, taking the other nation’s face into his warm eyes, thumbs gently rolling over his cheek bones, wiping them away. His own view of Veneziano was still made blurry from his own crying, but despite his blubbering, found words crawling up his throat and spilling out in purely shaky Italian while looking the other directly into his eyes.
“Che cosa? Fratellino, so che ci sono mostri. Abbiamo bisogno di ottenere tutti fuori. Ma io non so se c'è un modo per uscire...” Romano paused there. Expressing his fear about not finding a way was the last think he ought to be saying to Veneziano, it was true. However, it was the sheer comfortable of finding himself being able to show some honesty towards someone most likely to understand him. They had no other option but to escape. They were nations. Nations who had been through much worse, and were built to to be torn from the inside out, only to stand up stronger than before. They couldn’t allow themseleves to be destroyed and consumed by this cursed mansion, by those soulless creatures who held nothing but dark maliciousness towards them.
“S-Stop apologizing you crybaby. I-I believe you okay? N-Now how are we going to make a way out of this here?" Romano's voice grew less harsh, dropping to a less threatening whisper. "You’ve got gelato and pasta waiting for you at home. S-So stop crying and let’s try to figure something out, okay Vene? We can do it. I know we can. For e-everyone else too...we're not that useless.”
Veneziano was scaring him. More than he had felt fright being away from him for so long with nothing to depend on but their emotional connection, and all of the fear surging through on that channel alone. This wasn’t the same Veneziano he was used to, the one that would constantly smile, the one that would sing silly songs while cooking pasta, and the one who would try and coerce him into the very same kind of embrace he had gifted him just moments ago. Romano hated seeing his brother this way—it made his stomach knot and only urged him to cry on more. He desperately wished he could steal away all of Veneziano’s anxieties only to see him smile and carry on like he always did. Pure and oblivious.
No, this particular mask of being broken didn’t suit Veneziano in the least.
“Listen to me; you are not going to die, okay? Credetemi. ” His grip tightened, the tips of his fingers sinking past his thick hair into the roots and skull, as if trying to hard press his words directly into his sibling’s brain.
“No one is going to die. You’re not hurting anybody. Y-You just said there’s a key right? Let’s focus on finding that key together. Nothing else is as important right now. And are you kidding me? Che.” He tried smiling past his own insistent tears. “You’re still just a bambino in my eyes. You can’t hurt anyone. N-No one’s mad at you, alright? Non essere stupido.” With a deep sigh, Romano paused, trying to gather his thoughts, eyes falling shut briefly.
“...So what happened here? What are you trying to hide...? Don’t think I d-didn’t notice...” With a small nudge, he pushed away his brother’s hand, eyes falling down to the full reveal of the tear in his shirt and the hint of bandage, stained in red. His hazel eyes widened, looking back up to his brother’s face.
Romano really hated blood. He hated the color, the smell, the way it stuck and crusted—the way it implicated death and pain. Two more things that Veneziano needed to be protected from.
“Che cazzo, idiota?! Chi ti ha ferito? Lo li ammazzo! Caro signore Gesù Cristo in cielo io ucciderò qualcuno...!” His outburst in Italian quickly diverted into both angered and panicked Sicilian, Romano taking care to sit Veneziano on top of the nearest table in the library, ignoring the scattered, old books already occupying space there. Getting down on his knees, the elder brother started to study the wound, his fingers lightly skimming past his belly button, over the stil wet bandages (or was that flag material—?) again before he started working on undoing his brother’s tie, next working on the buttons, cursing and huffing the entire way through. His tears dried up in favor of a hardened gaze, steeled in worry.
“Is this even wrapped up properly? What if you get an infection? Fuck, I really can’t leave you alone with you breaking all your goddamned limbs off,” he spat out, his tone on the edge of wobbly rather than upset. Inwardly, Romano wasn’t sure what else he could do—he had no anticeptics on him, no fresh bandages or anything medical of the sort. “And look at how pale you are...Jesus, how much did you bleed? How long ago did you get this...? Anyway, you need to change these...I-I’ll just use my own shirt. You shut up and stay still. It might hurt a bit...and s-sorry, my hands are cold...just...Jesus, Vene. You’re fucking scaring me, you know? So much...”
His last words, finally admitted aloud, came out in a rushed whisper.
