{OOC} Application
[nick / name]: Nil
[personal LJ name]: nil_nova
[other characters currently played]:
Kurosaki Hisoka :: Yami no Matsuei :: hic_pertineo
[e-mail]: liljuunanadroid@yahoo.com
[AIM / messenger]: hisoka feels you [or] Okada Norokasu [on aim]
[series]: Final Fantasy VII and... additions. [I have knowledge of all but Before Crisis. Stupid Japan and their Japanese cellphones.]
[character]: Zack Fair
[character history / background]: Pls to b wiki-ing this, because it's long.
[character abilities]: As mentioned on the wiki page, Zack is a 1st class elite fighter in the genetically-enhanced SOLDIER group under Shinra, Inc. Skilled with a gigantic sword as well as hand-to-hand combat [see Last Order if you don't believe me] and magic via use of materia, Zack is a great fighter - quite possibly the greatest to ever live, being on par with the other 1sts of the time when he was the only one NOT as mutated as teenage turtles in a sewer. He's a big boy and can definitely hold his own, though he doesn't act it most of the time. Cut to 1:51 and see how many men it took to kill him. Only three survived, and after they shot him in the head he was still able to give his parting words to Cloud before passing on. I think that about covers it.;;
Also, defies gravity almost as well as Cloud's hair does.
[character personality]: Zack is the embodiment of sunny disposition. For all that death and killing is par for the course as a SOLDIER, he always remains positive and thinks of the people he might be helping, rather than those he might be hurting. When people pass on before him, instead of mourning their death, he moves on and lives life even more to its fullest in honor of them. This isn't to say he's detached; far from it! He's friendly to a fault and also a terrible pushover, especially when it comes to crying little girls or coy girlfriends that think that, while the flower cart is nice... she wants a nicer one. Zack isn't thick or naive, being completely aware of how simple he seems to others, and empathizes with people very well because of his objective view on life (when not thinking about his own problems, of course). If all else fails, he admits he's simplistic in his ideals. Whenever he does feels lost or conflicted, which is relatively extremely rare, all he needs to do to get himself back in order is a deep breath and a reminder of honor and his dreams for himself, and he's ready to press on again.
That being said, Zack is obnoxiously clingy and prone to rough-housing, and is a terrible flirt - until someone flirts back and he babbles like a confused gaping fish. Laid back about everything, he isn't afraid to cry or show weakness in front of others, because honesty is the best policy, in his opinion. It also helps that if you press the right button he's usually easy to perk up and distract right on the spot, though the degree to which his reaction is authentic varies.
[point in timeline you're picking your character from]: Immediately post-death, at the age of 23.
[journal post]:So, what, this is like.... metropolitan heaven? If that's the case, then I have a top-priority question that needs asking:
OI, ANGEAL. WHERE ARE MY WINGS? DON'T STIFF ME NOW, MAN. I WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO THOSE.
And if I see you walking around and not flying just because it causes "wear, tear, and rust", I'm going to be disappointed. Seriously.
[third person / log sample]: He could feel the sun, unbearably hot, at the back of his neck. It was a niggling little complaint haunting the back of his mind as he waddled along in an army crouch, one hand trailing against the sandstone marking the bend in the path. 'There's no one to bitch to out here, Zack. Ignore it. Ignore how incredibly unfair it is for you to be stuck in a black uniform in the middle of a desert. Focus. Mission. Right.'
This wasn't like any normal mission. He, being the reckless one, was usually sent on something akin to "search and destroy", rather than sneaking about like this. His boots crunched heavily with each step along the pebbled sand, and his teeth ground right along with them. He couldn't give himself away. He couldn't screw up... again. People always say that the third time's a charm, right? Zack hoped desperately that it would ring true here, in the selectively superstitious corner of his mind. Twice already had the 2nds laughed their asses off at his expense, and as much as he'd only half-jokingly threatened to tear them a new one, going "niener niener niener" was so much more satisfying. Even Sephiroth found those antics to be nigh hilarious - well, for Sephiroth, anyway - and that was definitely saying some--
"...Wuwuhu?"
He froze, gloved hand tightening its hold against the rock face. The target was close. It had to be. A sudden turn to the right was just before him, and he happened to be on the right side of the path as well. Sand clots tossed about a few feet in front of him, but he couldn't catch sight of the target yet - not without it catching sight of him when he wasn't ready to spring. He settled down on his heels, wiping gloved palms absently on his knees though it did nothing for the sweat or the heat, and prepared himself for the strike. As soon as he saw a flash of green on the bend... He had to pull this off. His honor as a SOLDIER, as a 1st depended on it. (Of course, that was the policy for every mission, no matter how mundane, but it always made him feel better for it when the day was done.)
A second, a second, a second, a minute? He wasn't sure how long it took, glowing eyes like the blue desert sky above him staying riveted on that bend, waiting for the instant the monster would show itself.
And then it did, a brief pause in the movement of before, an eternally shocked expression that reminded Zack of that ":o" emoticon some of the other SOLDIERS put in their emails, and three spiky orange prongs on top of a skinny green head.
SOLDIER stared at Cactaur, each daring the other to move, before the moment was broken and the young man leaped forward.
"Gotcha Now!"
But what poor Zack hadn't realized was that Cactaur had paused simply to prepare its infamous 1,000 Needles attack, which he met, almost quite literally, head-on. A few exclamatories and utterly embarrassing wriggles in the sand later, the only thing in the forefront of his mind was:
It was gone. Burrowed away into the sand again.
No longer caring about getting dirty, he dropped his head back to the ground, ignoring the stick of cactus needles everywhere, and thought, simply, almost hysterically, 'An effing pet cactus is just not worth this much effort.'