Application メ Siren's Pull

[grimmjerk]

Player Information

Name: Rem
Age: 24
AIM SN: Remdatenshi
email: mirriem@gmail.com
Have you played in an LJ based game before? Yes
Bonus: How did you hear about Siren's Pull? Hideously enabled by certain castmates! You know who you are.

Character Information

General
Canon Source: Bleach
Canon Format: Manga
Character's Name: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez
Character's Age: Unknown, appears late twenties, estimated much older due to the length of time it takes a Hollow to progress from its initial form to Adjuchas and higher.

What form will your character's NV take? A cat's skull with a black crown painted on. The skull represents his own nature, the crown his goals - but it's all very small, about the size of a billiard ball and attached to a coarse woven strap that can be tied to his scabbard or around his wrist. The mouth opens to a tiny screen and only a few buttons for voice, video, and holographic options; it has no text capability seeing as Grimmjow himself would never use such a feature. CANON UPDATE NEW INFO: His NV now has a small, slide-out keyboard!

Abilities

Character's Canon Abilities: Standard Superman-style shounen nonsense! Mainly to the tune of:

Superspeed (Sonido - creates a static-laced boom when in use; assume he's moving close to the speed of sound!)

Superskin (Hierro - can't be cut by blades or punctured by all but the most high caliber projectiles, resistant to most elements and energies)

Superstrength (...no fancy name for this one - can bend steel bars, punch holes in people, carry massive loads, etc.)

LASERS (Cero - energy beam using reiatsu, aka spiritual power! Known to blow up city streets)

MISC (all powered by reiatsu, these range from being able to fly to the ability to sense the spiritual signature of living creatures - provided they have one)

More realistic personal skills unrelated to preternatural powers: hand-to-hand skill, sword skill, combat experience. Grimmjow has been fighting a great deal for a very long time and so displays the ability and experience that a life of conflict can produce. Adaptable (fight a powerful opponent with only one arm? WHY NOT), perceptive (I see by your pained squinting that you're having trouble, Ichigo), cunning (cheap tricks against teammates? WHY NOT), and practical (take out even the weakest of enemies? ALWAYS), he's not exactly to be trifled with even when his power is limited by injury. CANON UPDATE NEW INFO: Grimmjow now has his left arm! Which means he's at full power...technically. He has a little healing to do.

While this certainly makes him strong already, his Resurreccion triples the effectiveness and power of all of these abilities. A Resurreccion to an Arrancar is what a shikai and a bankai are to a Shinigami: basically a "level up" of massive proportions, Grimmjow reverts to a more bestial form that closely resembles the Hollow self that he was originally. Doing this unleashes the full extent of his abilities, which makes it possible for him to blow holes in skyscrapers and move faster than the eye can see, as well as access his most deadly of techniques.

Weapons: His zanpakuto, Pantera. It doesn't have any specific skills the way a Shinigami's would; he simply uses it as a sword.

The real power comes in its use as the key to his Resurreccion. The majority of his power is locked in his sword and by releasing that power, he takes on his other form and fully realized abilities.

History/Personality/Plans/etc.

Character History: Online Biography.

Point in Canon: Following Chapter 214, shortly after Kaname Tousen cut off his left arm. CANON UPDATE NEW INFO: Grimmjow is now from his very last appearance in Chapter 286, after Nnoitra's sneak attack and Ichigo's subsequent (and short-lived) rescue.

Character Personality: Grimmjow is good at two things: losing his shit and fighting. There's plenty more to add, yeah, but every last bit of it is related to one of the above.

In his world, there's nothing else but the fight, the blood-stained, never-ending, eat-your-dead war that the powerful fight to gain more power. His attitude, outlook, and very purpose for being revolve around this struggle. Violence comes easily and quickly and, in his opinion, inevitably. He is strong, and so he fights. He is a Hollow, and so he kills and consumes. There is no self-denial, no lack of confidence, and while Grimmjow doesn't indulge in the kind of intoxicating self-love that some of his compatriots do, he is monstrously proud of what he is and what he's capable of. Bringing up the moral reprehensibility of murder and brutality will only make him laugh. You might as well tell him that it's wrong for a predator to eat meat; to him, to fight is to live.

This does make for a creature that is not peaceable, is not predictable, and is not in any way inclined to give a fuck about anything or anyone. Don't let his calm spells fool you. It may be true that when he isn't fighting he's more an irreverent lay about than a sadistic killer, as laid-back and carless as any street side punk with nothing better to do than pick his teeth with a knife. There can be conversation, if he feels like it. There can be humor, although most people might not approve of a lot of what he finds funny. There can be easygoing laziness, bored dismissals, sarcastic one-liners, crude amusement, and baiting jabs, everything necessary to fool passerby into thinking that he's at least passably sociable, if being rude, willful, and scornful toward any type of authority counts as sociable; there is one notable exception, but it goes without saying that he'll respect - and even fear - an authority that is much more powerful than him.

But he is as much the killer as he is the punk and his disposition is notoriously volatile. Grimmjow is the poster boy for short-tempered (well, maybe he takes second place, but Nnoitra is a nonentity as far as he's concerned), easily and almost instantaneously gravitating between emotional extremes. He can go from calm to laughing crazily to putting a fist through someone's stomach, all within the same breath. His hair trigger is not to be underestimated, especially if he thinks you are mocking, insulting, or otherwise dismissing him. It bears repeating that Grimmjow is a proud, committed creature with his own personal goals and so will lash out, often violently, to tear down those that look down on him. Add to this an obsessive, possessive streak that he reserves only for special enemies (such as Ichigo Kurosaki) and you've got the makings of a dangerous, obstinate, and explosive enemy. Provided, of course, you can make him give a shit about you in the first place.

The really dangerous thing, though, and something easily missed by the stupid or haughty, is that Grimmjow's behavior and actions only appear unbalanced and erratic. He means what he does, each and every time; he's not crazy, or uncontrollable, or irrational. He acts beastly and cruel because that's his nature, not his mental condition. When in battle he's ruthless and cunning, an experienced, intelligent fighter that's observant, quick-thinking, and in control; when the fighting's over his capacity to be smart, pay attention, and take advantage of openings and weaknesses doesn't just disappear.

Believe it or not, Grimmjow can think. He can pay back debts, too, and harbors a sense of honor that shows itself only infrequently but nonetheless exists. His harsh words, while blunt and many times cruel, are more often than not nothing but the truth as he sees it. Lying doesn't happen too often with him and grand plans, taking over the world? His world view narrows down to himself, and to what he needs to do on a road painted with the blood of those he has consumed.

So he's honest. Kind of. He's not exactly evil. But that doesn't mean he won't kill you if it means coming out on top. He's reckless and wild. At the same time he's being shrewd and able. He can be approached.

With caution.

CANON UPDATE NEW INFO: Considering the rather important events that - by his perspective - just occurred, there's a degree of uncertainty and just plain loss that Grimmjow won't be able to shake. He's been beaten and, worse than that, saved; how's a Hollow supposed to deal with that?

Much of his personality remains the same, but there's an extra layer of brooding and, oddly enough, an inclination toward privacy. His personal questions are things he'd rather keep to himself, making him a degree more standoffish and secretive than normal. The irritation threshold has both increased and decreased; his tolerance for the inane is higher, but his berserk buttons (to be looked down upon, to be treated as nothing, to be asked about the outcomes of his fights and his future) will fluctuate between being worse than normal and suddenly not there at all.

It's no fucking fun being conflicted. That much is pretty damn clear.

Character Plans: For all intents and purposes, Grimmjow is crippled. Compared to regular flesh and blood mortals he's as powerful and dangerous as ever, but among his peers - that is, among the Espada - the loss of his arm is an irredeemable handicap. At this point in time the only thing on his mind, the only thing that matters, is getting his power back and proving that he has it.

Naturally, doing this would and will involve a lot of fighting, a lot of clawing his way back up to the top. The City, with its perpetual conflict, monsters, and general violence, is the perfect setting for him. Peaceful settings with the occasional wacky hijinks? Those aren't for him. But a place where he can leave his bloody mark behind and get back the pride and the position that he lost? He'll take up that goal with gusto. Which side he chooses - or if he chooses a side at all - really depends on who's the strongest and has the strongest enemies.

CANON UPDATE NEW INFO: Kill Luppi. Find out what happened with Edgeworth. Kill Luppi. Try to figure shit out. Kill Luppi. Maybe try a few human things.

Oh, and kill Luppi.

Appearance/PB: Standard.

Resurrección

Writing Samples

First Person Sample

I don't give a fuck about who you are, where you're from, or what you're doing here. I don't need to know where I am or where to go. I don't want any of your helpful 'advice' or pointless, shitty chitchat.

[the man - it's assumed it is a man; maybe the swath of bone on his face is some morbid costume.

the video feed is simple and very small. all that's in sight is the man's face, and the dark, white-capped expanse of the ocean behind him. his expression is harsh but careless, neither afraid nor panicked nor even particularly concerned.

he had listened, for a while. the babbling on this thing was hard to ignore, once he'd bothered to turn it on]

All I want to know is what's across the ocean.

[a short pause, during which he turns his head toward the sun.

it's low on the horizon, basking the sea in dirty copper]

And what comes out at night.

Third Person Sample

It stank.

Thick and rotten, it wafted out of corners and crevices, an oily cloud that left the tang of meat and excrement on the bed of his tongue and the roof of his mouth. In comparison, Hueco Mundo had been a void, the air as limp and colorless as the desert itself. Stench, real stench, came from blood and gore and shit; it was the organic that fouled and gave off a miasma that clung and choked the lungs. Souls, Hollows, they had none of that, and even the dead didn't last long, quickly consumed so that there was little else left but bones. Here, garbage overflowed, buildings sagged under their own weight, people - humans, otherwise - huddled or sprawled in the nooks and crannies, watching him from under dirty rags.

Grimmjow spat into a gutter.

Later, later he'd learn he'd wandered east from the baseball diamond, through the lower class neighborhoods and into the slums. He'd find out, or be told, about other sections of the City; the portions that were livable, even privileged.

But even then, that was less important than the stink, and the looks, and the undercurrent of fear and desperation that slithered among the people and along the city streets. It passed over and around him, thick and frightful, and old hungers stirred in his belly. Anxiety snapped and stung in the atmosphere - not his, but the anxiety of the many, growing exponentially as the miserable afternoon sunlight melted into the murky haze of the early evening.

Even the blind would be able to guess that something was coming. At first he'd thought that after the first few skirmishes, when he'd left the mangled bodies of the opportunistic behind him - "That fucker's only got one arm!" - the ambushes had tapered off because word of what he was capable of had gotten around. But to look at them, scurrying like rats, fleeing, hiding...

Something's out there.

It was about that time, when the streets had gone quiet and the sun had gone red, that he reached the sea.

This, like the smell, was something Grimmjow hadn't experienced in a long time. It had its own odor: machinery and salt and dead fish. Moisture, cloying and cold, snatched at the trailing ends of his clothing and made the dirty, blood-stained fabric flap in the chilly wind. Waves rolled violently against beaten sand and crumbling piers, letting off a constant, beastly roar that reverberated in his very bones.

For the first time since waking - since snarling and howling and clutching at the bloody stump that still oozed slowly from under the makeshift bandage of his jacket - Grimmjow smiled.