for I have made her prison be; APPLICATION
PLAYER
» Journal: revolter
» Birthdate/Age: 7/4/89; 20
» Characters Played: N/A
CHARACTER
» Name: Chidori Yoshino
» Fandom: Persona 3
» Canon Point: Post-death (November 22nd), prior to being revived.
» Gender: Female
» Age: None in canon given. It seems reasonable to estimate that she’s around Junpei’s age, given she doesn’t seem significantly older or younger than him, and thus roughly 16-17.
» Orientation: Heterosexual. From what we are shown, Chidori is not the kind to care about sex; until Junpei, the subject of romance is not broached with her, as she seems disdainful of human relationships in general. She snaps at Junpei simply because he’s standing in front of her, after all, and even with her ‘comrades’ Takaya and Jin, she’s a woman of few words.
Given her less than friendly overall attitude to other people, it makes sense to assume that the itch between her legs is pesky, if anything, something she can relieve on her own thank you very much. Nature is a troublesome mistress, etc. So she had most likely never cared for the irregularities of the heart, for dreamy sighs, for furtive glances and skin-on-skin, until she met Junpei.
It really is all his fault. This idiot boy kept talking to her. Maybe he wasn’t bad company. But she… grew too used to him. ‘You’ve been poisoned,’ Takaya said. ‘I love you,’ Chidori confessed instead. How strange, for someone like her to use that word so quickly-and to believe it wholeheartedly when everything else in her life had been splinters and sharp edges. But there it was. She’s not a robot, no tin man; she has a heart, and it’s inclined to a boy.
Can she be with a woman? If survival demands it. Both of the sexes are dirty when it comes to the sheets; what does she care so long as she lives? But we’re given nothing to show that it’d be a natural urge.
» Personality: For someone with powers of fire, there’s a frost to Chidori that’s difficult to thaw. She prefers to speak little; her words are as clipped as her tongue is sharp. When her lips do part, it’s rarely anything soothing, as she has no qualms about being blunt to the point of rudeness (her initial encounters with Junpei, as stated, have her snapping at him for essentially being in her light). And it doesn’t take much to annoy her; human interaction isn’t a… pastime of hers so much as it is a drudging, unavoidable fact. How dull.
But she isn’t all tin and flat affect. Chidori’s only human, after all; she has fears, those clawed dark things that she tucks away. She puts distance between herself and others not only because, well, hell is other people, but because she’s afraid of attachments. The red string of fate is so fragile a thing, after all; it mustn’t take much to cut, to snap in half. Being so aware of her own mortality has forced Chidori to realize that all things have an end; she’ll have to let them go eventually. She dislikes this. It’s… a harsh realization. But what doesn’t begin can’t end. She won’t lose people if she ushers them away. So she focuses on Strega, those two boys who she’s known for so long and who know their place, in relation to her. It’s easier that way.
But Chidori doesn’t understand herself, not really, and she says this much aloud to Junpei. She carries around a sketchbook with her at all times, but when asked she simply states that she likes drawing; there is no elaboration as to why. She doesn’t feel any need to analyze these kinds of things-or, perhaps, just prefers not to out of fear of what she might discover.
Despite the evenness of her voice and the neutral (if not exasperated) expression her face typically wears, Chidori is far from stable. One attachment she has had for years, with her Persona Medea, triggers a hysteria-tinged outburst when her evoker (and thus her power to summon the persona) is taken away. Here her fear is manifested: here is when her voice breaks, its pitch rising and falling in barely subdued distress. In this sense, Chidori is far more dependent than she cares to admit. She only maintains this façade of nonchalance and apathy by avoiding that others get that close.
Chidori is vulnerable, although she would gag on the word. As much as she tries to maintain this stony outer image, her acts of self-injury pick away at it. She implies that doing this makes her feel alive; her innate healing powers, however, make this a fleeting sensation at best, as her Persona quickly heals over all her wounds. That any hurt she sustains heals similarly may be part of the reason Chidori does this, although it is doubtful she understands why herself. Perhaps pain feels more unreal when it can be soothed over so quickly, and thus the acts of self-harm are a reminder; she may also do this due to the apathetic and dull affect she tries to maintain, thus compensating for the emptiness with a physical hurt. In any case, Chidori gives no reason, as usual, and we are left to extrapolate.
Her frank attitude to her actions-and, similarly, to death itself- can unnerve others and cause her to come off as quite morbid. She insists repeatedly that she doesn’t fear death; in part, perhaps, because she has for the most part successfully avoided those attachments that would otherwise cause her to fear her end. She doesn’t seem to realize how strange her behavior is considered by others; when Junpei expresses alarm at her nonchalance towards death, she merely smiles and calls him weird for his concern.
Chidori is stubborn, and while she can change her ways, this should not be expected to come easily. She has little problem shutting out external stimuli, as with Mitsuru and Akihiko when they attempt to interrogate her. While not a natural leader type, she can also take initiative with some confidence, as witnessed by her taking of Junpei hostage.
Despite all this, she has a deep potential to be self-sacrificing and giving. Should one break through her firmly erected barriers (as Junpei does, for example), she is encouraged into opening herself up and accepting that she can have feelings such as “love” for another person. She speaks honestly and openly-and with a smile. Hers is a tough shell of ice to melt, but once it does, it’s not all so bad. She’s not even completely humorless: Junpei can attest to that rare smile and crack of a joke, after all.
» Appearance: Chidori is fairly distinctive in terms of physicality. Her hair, while not blinding, certainly is a brighter shade of red than most: and it’s long. If that doesn’t catch a person’s eye, her style of dress might. She typically wears a white dress, one that might be seen as related to the classical subtype of Lolita-wear: a long skirt, sleeves that open wider as they fall to the wrist, a kind of white bonnet, and some white ribbon wrapped around the front pigtails of her hair. There’s a hint of danger, of sharpness: she wears a kind of spear/dagger instrument horizontally through her hair, two spiked cuffs around her ankles, and prefers to carry her hatchet when possible.
Otherwise, Chidori is thin; she’s not outstandingly tall or short, but who knows what kind of height those platform shoes of her give. Her expression is usually blank or a total show of apathy, save for when she’s annoyed (which… isn’t hard to provoke). Her eyes, a strange amber-brown mix, seem somewhat lidded usually, which might contribute to this effect.
She doesn’t present herself in any confrontational way-there’s no arms crossed over her chest, no aggressive hands on her hips-but you try looking at that face, so often marked by her lips pressed in a thin line. Approachable? Barely. Since she’ll only be aged up a couple years at most, not much of her appearance will have changed from what we see in canon.
» Suitability: Chidori’s had no sheltered life. Jin, a fellow member of Strega, reveals how all three of them once lived on the street, and were taken in by scientists and experimented on in order to provoke the appearance of Persona. If assumptions are correct that Strega were only young children at the time of being picked up, Chidori had to brave some intense conditions-essentially being homeless, it seems- at an age no child should have to. The experiments only add to this; that she, Jin, and Takaya were the only three to survive out of the original hundred children that were gathered illustrates the severity of the situation, and thus Chidori must have gained an impression of death much more dark and unnerving than other children usually would.
Atia, in this sense, wouldn’t be nearly as severe and disconcerting as these early experiences must have been. Discomforting, yes; but the trauma is nothing in comparison. If she can come back from something like being homeless and being experimented on, then surely she can adapt to a new environment once again.
Chidori is probably close to the age of 18, and thus even without such a background has an understanding of sex with a certain level of maturity. Thus she can approach the situation with some level-headedness and rationality. If she can make such a drastic choice in game to leave behind Strega, who she’s been with for years upon years if estimations are correct, and die for Junpei, then she should be able to adapt to her new situation and do what has to be done to survive.
SAMPLES
» "amatomnes" Entry:
[it takes Chidori a few awkward moments to realize she’s finally worked the darned thing; she’s kept her composure well, except for a couple hard to hear words muttered under her breath. She’s staring coolly at the screen, but the downward turn of her lips gives her frustration away to more observant watchers. When she’s realized she’s got it working:]
Who brought me here? This isn’t…
[she’s almost demanding the first bit of information rather than asking for it, but she trails off. There’s a hint of… not quite indecision, but that she’s unsure of her own thoughts, as her eyes lose their focus. It’s temporary. Almost immediately, her voice has regained its flatness, its assurance]
This isn’t death. This isn’t anywhere I know.
[her hand moves half-consciously to her collar, tugging at the bow; there’s a flash of something in her eyes, something well kept away, as they widen at the reminder of her situation. Her hand moves slowly to cover the entire base of her throat, before she drops it, that tiny rare spark of-anger vanishing under the heavy lids of her eyes. There’s an edge to that flat tone, now:]
Tch. I’m tired of games. Show yourself to me.
» "amatomneslogs" Entry:
Chidori had always expected death to lull her into blankness: a shot of black before nothing, no colors, no thoughts, just a washing away of everything. That had been what Takaya had told her. It had been… comforting. But she supposed she should have been done with him and all his grand words, by now.
It didn’t lull, it wasn’t some lullaby. Death rolled through her with an unexpected warmth, her body arching up to meet its sticky haze. How disorienting it all was: the feel of hands, his, digging into her skin, little sharp bursts of pain that left her mind humming-
When she awakened, it wasn’t with a jerk. Her head rolled against something soft, smooth, before her eyes peered open. What an odd feeling greeted her: all her limbs seemed so heavy, suddenly, lead-like. She tested a leg, lifting it almost with suspicion; the fresh air left it tingling, a pleasant buzz that didn’t shoot from her heel to her thigh so much as it wrapped around like a vine. She shifted, awakening her arms, her toes with a slow flex; each movement seemed so lethargic, so relaxed. Could this really be-?
Wait.
Chidori sat up, eyes adjusting to the splay of colors that greeted her: golds, reds, colors that boasted of royalty and luxury swooping down from the ceiling in velvet arches. That green hue of the Dark Hour: that had been her last recollection. “This isn’t right,” she murmured, body finally tensing with a sense of caution. “Where…”
Her leg brushed up against the sheets. Satin. Chidori glanced down, eyebrows drawing together. “Why am I…” She drew her index along the inside of her leg. It was all bare skin, white tinged just pink from the heat. She hadn’t-died like this. So what did it mean? Surely this wasn’t a… rebirth. What wishful thinking, she had always thought of the idea, how foolish. Things didn’t come that easily.
The finger on her leg paused as it reached her thigh. Almost immediately, Chidori dug her nail into her skin, barely groaning. She swiped a finger between her legs, nose scrunching as she brought it up to inspect. Damp. Human bodies were so troublesome, messy; that wetness between her legs always made her feel more like a leaky machine than a being with flesh.
She ignored the heat coiled in the pit of her stomach, all too content to let it cool and dry away. Rubbing her finger against the sheets, her eyes scanned the room. How… unnecessarily elaborate. “Tch.” Chidori observed the draperies, the columns-so rounded, so full. How bony she felt in comparison. But her gaze drank in the settings only with caution, with clinical calculation. The luxury… left her shifting uncomfortably, so disconcerting it was. She had never been accustomed to that.
It was then she caught her reflection in the mirror. A hand flew to her neck-so this much is allowed. Hn. It was her choker; it covered a significant portion of her neck, frilly and with a kind of bow, but… Chidori leaned forward, fingers curling around the collar. No. It was different, now; thicker, harder. Not quite leather, but not its usual, fragile lace. And that chain… It reminded her of her hatchet, the new metal that circled around the choker and tucked itself neatly behind the bow. Some part of her recoiled: so had someone brought her here? And did they think they could own her? It reminded her of men, long ago, a laboratory, other children-
Her eyes narrowed, but she pushed herself off the bed, shoving the thought aside. The cool air met her skin in a kind of deceptive embrace, and she shivered. Something-something else, in this strange place-was… different. Little goosebumps peeked their heads on her skin as she contemplated it. She felt… lighter, somehow. As though she had lost something. Was without-
“Medea!” The cry spilled from her lips like a shot, instantaneous and automatic. A hand cupped the side of her head, falling almost in disbelief to her cheek, as if trying to seek the presence out of hiding. That whisper in her head, that hum under her skin: gone, gone, gone. But what could have-!
… Junpei. The name almost came like a sigh, both of reassurance and resignation. She had-left Medea with him. That was right. It was the only way to… Chidori closed her eyes briefly. She had… known. No! No, but she hadn’t expected this, this parody of death-
Her breathing was still uneven. Swallowing, her eyes fell to the foot of the bed. Her clothes: she was grateful for a task to focus on, something menial, mundane. But when the communicator spilled out from folds of white, that frustrating hint towards a captor, Chidori didn’t even pick it up immediately; she merely stared at it, mouth tightening as her lips fell in a flat line.
Was this someone’s idea of a game? Only Paradise, the object of naive artists and philosophers, would warrant such elaborate settings, and Chidori doubted it existed. And for technology to be a staple of the afterlife… The anachronism just didn’t make any sense. She picked up the device, her hand closing hard around it. Her other hand tugged once at her collar, a second time, before dropping limp to her side. Useless. It stayed.
Chidori stared at her lidded gaze in the mirror, annoyance already puckering the corners of her eyes. “How… degrading.” She was being toyed with. It was not unfamiliar.
Exhaling slowly, she turned the communicator over in her hands.