App
Character: William T. Spears
Series: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler)
Age: Adult, but indeterminate due to being a Grim Reaper
Job: Resident "The Man"
Canon: Once upon a time in Victorian England there was a young Earl named Ciel Phantomhive. 12-year-old Ciel has endured quite a bit in his young life. His family, trapped inside their sabotaged, burning manor, all perished. Ciel himself was kidnapped, thus escaping this fate-though whether that was indeed a benefit is not easily determined. Some time later, Ciel surfaces from his captivity with a brand new demon of a butler, Sebastian. These days, Ciel is the Watchdog of the Queen, investigating atrocities most foul with the help of his bonded servant.
It's in one of these investigations-centering around Jack the Ripper-that Ciel and Sebastian encounter William T. Spears, Grim Reaper. The primary function of a Grim Reaper is to judge and collect the souls of the immediately deceased… on a schedule, of course. William is a chilly, straight-laced, and serious death god who does things strictly by the book-literally. To wit, he carries a hardbound, heavily bookmarked rule book at all times and is quick to correct others' mistakes. He has a deep-seated disrespect and disgust for demons and rule-breakers. Additionally, his stickler attitude makes it hard to blend in with humans-fortunately, people assume that he's just joking when he comments on the state of their soul or accuses someone of being a demon from hell. Unfortunately, William lacks any sense of humor whatsoever and doesn't care in the slightest for delicate notions of normalcy. Like all Reapers, William's "scythe" is actually an entirely different type of gardening implement: long-handled, indefinitely extendable hedge shears, to be precise, and not at all a metaphor for his distant and cutting personality.
Sample Post:
Honestly. To be sent to a place like this and to exist in the same area as these drivelers-no, not drivelers. One must be able to articulate anything at all to produce drivel. I'd call them rats, but even then I suppose rats have more dignity than these shambling revenants. Filthy things. You decaying, abrading creatures moreso than the rats, but don't misunderstand me, I'm no friend to them, either. Let's get down to business, shall we? The first order of business is as follows: look to the dirt. Yes, yes, it is fetid and soggy today but that is hardly my point. Now, if you could possibly pay your attention to the line that I am delineating. This boundary is not to be breached at any time. If any one of you so much as thinks about-Oh, who am I fooling. None of you is thinking anything at all. Continue doing that, so long as it is on the other side of this line from me.
The second order of business is as follows: I was sent here to rectify institutionalized mistakes. Evidently, this makes me "The Man"; however, I do not know nor do I care what that signifies. Kindly do not interrupt again, or I shall be tempted to divorce your head from your body, though I'm not sure it would make a difference in your ability to function. But since you've brought it up: you may pretend to "damn" me all you want, but "The Man" or not, it will not make a significant difference. It's ludicrous to think that, as I am a Grim Reaper, you could even entertain the concept of killing me, let alone damning. As I was saying before I was quite rudely interrupted by a porridge-brained, limp-tongued corpse, things here have been disastrous for some time. For example, the name. "CFUD" is just as likely to stand for "Camp for Felonious, Unintelligent Deviants" as for anything else. Perhaps instead of "deviants" we substitute "demons". It would explain everything, really. The disorderly conduct, the scores of unscheduled departures resulting in these hobbling imbeciles. They've overrun the grounds to the point where my job is essentially archaic. No, this will not do.
All of this leads me to our third order of business: what to do with all of you. Certainly you are unfit to continue existing. You have all been late to your appointments and I do not abide by tardiness; therefore, something must be done. There is one hindrance that will momentarily extend your pointless, rotting existences, however. I would prefer to finish up and take my leave, but there is paperwork to be done. If we cannot respect the rules and regulations that have been set forth for our own good, then we are no better than the creatures who have no laws at all, correct? In the meantime, we will wait patiently, you on your side and me on mine.
...No, this is not your side of the line. It is mine. You are encroaching on the boundary by exactly one foot. Perhaps you will learn to mind your manners if we make that half a foot.
Voting was here with 96.2%
Series: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler)
Age: Adult, but indeterminate due to being a Grim Reaper
Job: Resident "The Man"
Canon: Once upon a time in Victorian England there was a young Earl named Ciel Phantomhive. 12-year-old Ciel has endured quite a bit in his young life. His family, trapped inside their sabotaged, burning manor, all perished. Ciel himself was kidnapped, thus escaping this fate-though whether that was indeed a benefit is not easily determined. Some time later, Ciel surfaces from his captivity with a brand new demon of a butler, Sebastian. These days, Ciel is the Watchdog of the Queen, investigating atrocities most foul with the help of his bonded servant.
It's in one of these investigations-centering around Jack the Ripper-that Ciel and Sebastian encounter William T. Spears, Grim Reaper. The primary function of a Grim Reaper is to judge and collect the souls of the immediately deceased… on a schedule, of course. William is a chilly, straight-laced, and serious death god who does things strictly by the book-literally. To wit, he carries a hardbound, heavily bookmarked rule book at all times and is quick to correct others' mistakes. He has a deep-seated disrespect and disgust for demons and rule-breakers. Additionally, his stickler attitude makes it hard to blend in with humans-fortunately, people assume that he's just joking when he comments on the state of their soul or accuses someone of being a demon from hell. Unfortunately, William lacks any sense of humor whatsoever and doesn't care in the slightest for delicate notions of normalcy. Like all Reapers, William's "scythe" is actually an entirely different type of gardening implement: long-handled, indefinitely extendable hedge shears, to be precise, and not at all a metaphor for his distant and cutting personality.
Sample Post:
Honestly. To be sent to a place like this and to exist in the same area as these drivelers-no, not drivelers. One must be able to articulate anything at all to produce drivel. I'd call them rats, but even then I suppose rats have more dignity than these shambling revenants. Filthy things. You decaying, abrading creatures moreso than the rats, but don't misunderstand me, I'm no friend to them, either. Let's get down to business, shall we? The first order of business is as follows: look to the dirt. Yes, yes, it is fetid and soggy today but that is hardly my point. Now, if you could possibly pay your attention to the line that I am delineating. This boundary is not to be breached at any time. If any one of you so much as thinks about-Oh, who am I fooling. None of you is thinking anything at all. Continue doing that, so long as it is on the other side of this line from me.
The second order of business is as follows: I was sent here to rectify institutionalized mistakes. Evidently, this makes me "The Man"; however, I do not know nor do I care what that signifies. Kindly do not interrupt again, or I shall be tempted to divorce your head from your body, though I'm not sure it would make a difference in your ability to function. But since you've brought it up: you may pretend to "damn" me all you want, but "The Man" or not, it will not make a significant difference. It's ludicrous to think that, as I am a Grim Reaper, you could even entertain the concept of killing me, let alone damning. As I was saying before I was quite rudely interrupted by a porridge-brained, limp-tongued corpse, things here have been disastrous for some time. For example, the name. "CFUD" is just as likely to stand for "Camp for Felonious, Unintelligent Deviants" as for anything else. Perhaps instead of "deviants" we substitute "demons". It would explain everything, really. The disorderly conduct, the scores of unscheduled departures resulting in these hobbling imbeciles. They've overrun the grounds to the point where my job is essentially archaic. No, this will not do.
All of this leads me to our third order of business: what to do with all of you. Certainly you are unfit to continue existing. You have all been late to your appointments and I do not abide by tardiness; therefore, something must be done. There is one hindrance that will momentarily extend your pointless, rotting existences, however. I would prefer to finish up and take my leave, but there is paperwork to be done. If we cannot respect the rules and regulations that have been set forth for our own good, then we are no better than the creatures who have no laws at all, correct? In the meantime, we will wait patiently, you on your side and me on mine.
...No, this is not your side of the line. It is mine. You are encroaching on the boundary by exactly one foot. Perhaps you will learn to mind your manners if we make that half a foot.
Voting was here with 96.2%