[ooc] records
CHARACTER NAME: Asch
FANDOM: Tales of the Abyss
CANON: Post-death.
WHAT THEY LOST: The ability to control his replica (Luke) or speak to him via the open fonslots. I've cleared this with Luke's player. \o
PERSONALITY: Assembling an Asch is easy, for a given value of 'easy'. First, find a heart of gold. Step on it a bit until it tarnishes. Wrap it in a pride whose laws are so strict as to border on brutal. Blend in some taciturnity along with a near-crippling inability to read between the lines. Drizzle in a lot of intolerance for stupidity, toss in a complex about being replaced and serve, stirred up but not shaken.
Because, for all his faults, Asch isn't easy to shake. Once he commits to a cause, his loyalty is blind and absolute. It takes a great deal to crack that faith, though this doesn't mean he's slow to be suspicious. As a God-General and a boy who never quite recovered from being utterly replaced, Asch is always on the lookout for the next betrayal. Forget the idea that trust doesn't come easy to him. Trust doesn't come to him at all - nor has it since he was ten years old. Only one person has been the exception to that rule since then, and that person tried to use him to destroy the planet and replace it with a world of replicas.
Obviously, he doesn't have much reason to believe that trust ever pays off.
Even so, underneath the thick skin and the glower, Asch is a kind person, though he loathes being called on it. Acting on those instincts is less a matter of morality than Asch's consciousness of his own importance, the fact that honor is ingrained into the noble's code. To act against it would reflect badly on him. He genuinely doesn't see anything praiseworthy about being generous. After all, it's what he's supposed to do. Why should anyone be congratulated just for fulfilling expectations? This belief makes him difficult to impress, since the accomplishment has to walk the fine line of being good enough to be called to his attention without being so amazing as to kick his competitive instinct into gear.
Morality isn't his strong suit. With Asch, it's not so much "an eye for an eye" as "whatever I can take from you for an eye - because, you bastard, that was my eye". Although he wants for life to work in equivalent exchanges - the reason why he keeps looking for why Luke could have taken his role so thoroughly, in what way he could have fallen short that he could be so replaced - when it comes down to it, Asch doesn't believe in fairness. But he doesn't dwell much on that. Although he broods, it's always in practical ways. He turns his bitterness into incentive for himself to train, and he uses his experience as a wary trigger-alert to help him watch out for more betrayals.
Having had everything taken from him once, Asch has found that the solution to never letting it happen again is to make himself irreplaceable, and this is what drives him as much as anything else. His perspective is a vicious one: only the best will be allowed to carry on their roles. Those less than good enough will be stripped of their ranks and abandoned. This comes second only to his determination to do the right things for his kingdom, Kimlasca. Given his own singular intensity, he's not used to having others keep up with him, and has developed a tendency to act independently. Surprisingly, it also means that he's good at figuring out how to use people, where to place them so that they'll be of the most help.
Unfortunately, coupling his independence with the fact that he's been in a position of command for most of his life, Asch is terrible at explaining. It takes the direst of circumstances before Asch even considers telling his side of anything. He honestly doesn't see the need for it. It's assumed that he knows best and things would go smoothly if only people would learn to take his orders. Besides, he already has enough work to do - since he rarely trusts anyone else with the hardest tasks - without having to pause and clarify his own actions. If they're smart, they should be able to figure it out on their own; if they're idiots, they don't deserve to know. Why should he have to make up for other people's stupidity?
He's capable of holding his own in polite conversation - though he may be somewhat brusque - but for the most part, he sees scant good in social niceties. Oh, he knows with painfully ingrained precision all the rituals kept between nobles and the drilled obeisances of soldiers. Looking beyond that, however, you find miles and miles of gruff refusal to communicate anything like feelings.
Asch isn't a rational person. He's biased, and he lets those biases skew his world-view to extremes. This makes him an extremely difficult person to argue with, because he takes stances based on how they fit into his beliefs and keeps them regardless of how much at odds they might be with reality. For Asch, it really isn't about logic - or, at least, not logic as the world would see it. He has his own internal reasoning, and that's all he needs to keep himself consistent.
THIRD-PERSON WRITING SAMPLE: He moves through his drills, smooth and automatic - but then, he's had years to perfect these rituals. Practiced, repeated, duplicated, they no longer have any value at all.
Sunset paints everything in bloody colors. His blade is copper, too soft to kill; his skin is rust, and he is slowing down. A coarse breath hisses out between his teeth. Step, step, lunge - and he's lashing out against an opponent who mirrors every move, an opponent who's plagiarised his learning like a--
Replica.
He pushes through the distraction, but it follows in spite of him. Casting back over those scant memories, Asch finds the replica's face gaping idiotically in every shot. Always defenseless, as if he hasn't learned yet how to keep his guard up, how to parry and turn an opponent's advance on himself, how to force a lunge back. Was he himself ever that raw, that open? How good a copy can he be, anyway, if he can't even mimic the most basic things? So stupid - and Asch finds the rage tighten familiarly in his muscles, as bitter as it ever was when the horror was still new to him. Contempt and fury clear his vision. He strikes - riposte and block, again and again in numb patterns - and doesn't think about whether the replica might be doing this too, cities away, while all his friends lie sleeping. Doesn't wonder whether one of them might not wake up, tiptoe out to laugh over those shared childhood memories,weave another crown of flowers with those slender, familiar hands--
Concentrate. He's had them back and sent them away again. They belong to someone separate, someone who lived and died and was never mourned, and it doesn't matter now. Their purpose is over. Nothing should concern him anymore but stopping Van.
Except that his wound is aching again and his bones are rusting down. Except the words gradual emission and fonon separation are refusing to fade, and the darkness around him is deep. Each heartbeat metes out another slipping moment, and he knows now that he can't be sure how many of those are left to him. How much longer can this stupid, traitorous body hold together?
But that doesn't matter, either. It'll hold together for as long as he needs it to, because there's no other answer he'll allow.
Overhead, night is swarming in, sliding silver and shadows over everything. His hand tightens on the sword until the glove squeaks against steel. He has a task to finish, after all. In the end, he's Van's one true student; there's nobody but him to see it through.
FIRST-PERSON WRITING SAMPLE: [ The journal records a sudden jerk, as if someone's snapping awake. ]
How the hell did I get here?
[ Then it's a rush to scramble out of bed, and the sharp, thin singing of a sword being drawn. ]
This is impossible. The fonon separation should have taken effect by now. [A pause. Then, a sudden break into footsteps.] That stupid replica must have failed to destroy Van. Damn it, you piece of--
[sound of a door slamming open]
FANDOM: Tales of the Abyss
CANON: Post-death.
WHAT THEY LOST: The ability to control his replica (Luke) or speak to him via the open fonslots. I've cleared this with Luke's player. \o
PERSONALITY: Assembling an Asch is easy, for a given value of 'easy'. First, find a heart of gold. Step on it a bit until it tarnishes. Wrap it in a pride whose laws are so strict as to border on brutal. Blend in some taciturnity along with a near-crippling inability to read between the lines. Drizzle in a lot of intolerance for stupidity, toss in a complex about being replaced and serve, stirred up but not shaken.
Because, for all his faults, Asch isn't easy to shake. Once he commits to a cause, his loyalty is blind and absolute. It takes a great deal to crack that faith, though this doesn't mean he's slow to be suspicious. As a God-General and a boy who never quite recovered from being utterly replaced, Asch is always on the lookout for the next betrayal. Forget the idea that trust doesn't come easy to him. Trust doesn't come to him at all - nor has it since he was ten years old. Only one person has been the exception to that rule since then, and that person tried to use him to destroy the planet and replace it with a world of replicas.
Obviously, he doesn't have much reason to believe that trust ever pays off.
Even so, underneath the thick skin and the glower, Asch is a kind person, though he loathes being called on it. Acting on those instincts is less a matter of morality than Asch's consciousness of his own importance, the fact that honor is ingrained into the noble's code. To act against it would reflect badly on him. He genuinely doesn't see anything praiseworthy about being generous. After all, it's what he's supposed to do. Why should anyone be congratulated just for fulfilling expectations? This belief makes him difficult to impress, since the accomplishment has to walk the fine line of being good enough to be called to his attention without being so amazing as to kick his competitive instinct into gear.
Morality isn't his strong suit. With Asch, it's not so much "an eye for an eye" as "whatever I can take from you for an eye - because, you bastard, that was my eye". Although he wants for life to work in equivalent exchanges - the reason why he keeps looking for why Luke could have taken his role so thoroughly, in what way he could have fallen short that he could be so replaced - when it comes down to it, Asch doesn't believe in fairness. But he doesn't dwell much on that. Although he broods, it's always in practical ways. He turns his bitterness into incentive for himself to train, and he uses his experience as a wary trigger-alert to help him watch out for more betrayals.
Having had everything taken from him once, Asch has found that the solution to never letting it happen again is to make himself irreplaceable, and this is what drives him as much as anything else. His perspective is a vicious one: only the best will be allowed to carry on their roles. Those less than good enough will be stripped of their ranks and abandoned. This comes second only to his determination to do the right things for his kingdom, Kimlasca. Given his own singular intensity, he's not used to having others keep up with him, and has developed a tendency to act independently. Surprisingly, it also means that he's good at figuring out how to use people, where to place them so that they'll be of the most help.
Unfortunately, coupling his independence with the fact that he's been in a position of command for most of his life, Asch is terrible at explaining. It takes the direst of circumstances before Asch even considers telling his side of anything. He honestly doesn't see the need for it. It's assumed that he knows best and things would go smoothly if only people would learn to take his orders. Besides, he already has enough work to do - since he rarely trusts anyone else with the hardest tasks - without having to pause and clarify his own actions. If they're smart, they should be able to figure it out on their own; if they're idiots, they don't deserve to know. Why should he have to make up for other people's stupidity?
He's capable of holding his own in polite conversation - though he may be somewhat brusque - but for the most part, he sees scant good in social niceties. Oh, he knows with painfully ingrained precision all the rituals kept between nobles and the drilled obeisances of soldiers. Looking beyond that, however, you find miles and miles of gruff refusal to communicate anything like feelings.
Asch isn't a rational person. He's biased, and he lets those biases skew his world-view to extremes. This makes him an extremely difficult person to argue with, because he takes stances based on how they fit into his beliefs and keeps them regardless of how much at odds they might be with reality. For Asch, it really isn't about logic - or, at least, not logic as the world would see it. He has his own internal reasoning, and that's all he needs to keep himself consistent.
THIRD-PERSON WRITING SAMPLE: He moves through his drills, smooth and automatic - but then, he's had years to perfect these rituals. Practiced, repeated, duplicated, they no longer have any value at all.
Sunset paints everything in bloody colors. His blade is copper, too soft to kill; his skin is rust, and he is slowing down. A coarse breath hisses out between his teeth. Step, step, lunge - and he's lashing out against an opponent who mirrors every move, an opponent who's plagiarised his learning like a--
Replica.
He pushes through the distraction, but it follows in spite of him. Casting back over those scant memories, Asch finds the replica's face gaping idiotically in every shot. Always defenseless, as if he hasn't learned yet how to keep his guard up, how to parry and turn an opponent's advance on himself, how to force a lunge back. Was he himself ever that raw, that open? How good a copy can he be, anyway, if he can't even mimic the most basic things? So stupid - and Asch finds the rage tighten familiarly in his muscles, as bitter as it ever was when the horror was still new to him. Contempt and fury clear his vision. He strikes - riposte and block, again and again in numb patterns - and doesn't think about whether the replica might be doing this too, cities away, while all his friends lie sleeping. Doesn't wonder whether one of them might not wake up, tiptoe out to laugh over those shared childhood memories,weave another crown of flowers with those slender, familiar hands--
Concentrate. He's had them back and sent them away again. They belong to someone separate, someone who lived and died and was never mourned, and it doesn't matter now. Their purpose is over. Nothing should concern him anymore but stopping Van.
Except that his wound is aching again and his bones are rusting down. Except the words gradual emission and fonon separation are refusing to fade, and the darkness around him is deep. Each heartbeat metes out another slipping moment, and he knows now that he can't be sure how many of those are left to him. How much longer can this stupid, traitorous body hold together?
But that doesn't matter, either. It'll hold together for as long as he needs it to, because there's no other answer he'll allow.
Overhead, night is swarming in, sliding silver and shadows over everything. His hand tightens on the sword until the glove squeaks against steel. He has a task to finish, after all. In the end, he's Van's one true student; there's nobody but him to see it through.
FIRST-PERSON WRITING SAMPLE: [ The journal records a sudden jerk, as if someone's snapping awake. ]
How the hell did I get here?
[ Then it's a rush to scramble out of bed, and the sharp, thin singing of a sword being drawn. ]
This is impossible. The fonon separation should have taken effect by now. [A pause. Then, a sudden break into footsteps.] That stupid replica must have failed to destroy Van. Damn it, you piece of--
[sound of a door slamming open]