Gaia Username: Morphball
Character name: Demyx
Age: ...maybe eighteen?
Sex: Male
Location:The World that Never Was. After that he goes wherever he's sent, mostly places he'd really rather NOT visit.
Affiliation: Not really a bad guy, or if he is, he's just bad at being bad. Demyx would rather be off relaxing, slacking off, making music...or slacking off. He's not all gung-ho about the Org.'s crusade to get their hearts back, but he admits it's tough to write good music without a heart, and that's a shame.
Physical Description: You know the mullet. The blonde mullet. The black coat, boots and gloves. He's rather scrawny, and must be wearing layers under his coat (or maybe it's just a thick coat).
Weapon? A blue, stylish sitar.
Shield, Staff or Sword? Staff
Who are you? The Who? MAN, I LOVE THE WHO.
Sample. Bony hands shot up, curling into sharply-angled fists. They turned inwards, outwards, rotated as his arms slowly lowered from an upright zero to an outstretched one-hundred eighty degrees. His mouth opened, his jaw creaked open and moved to the right as a tormented groan scratched through his throat.
He fell back, bonelessly, dangling and swinging slowly back and forth. A light breeze blew his hair about, like the soft hands of a lover running over his scalp. Vainly, one hand checked to assure him said mass of gravity-defying blonde remained intact. His eyes opened to a blue sky, and a green canopy disrupting the bright sunlight. Nonetheless, his hand touched his chest, found the sunglasses hooked in the neck of his voluminous robes, extracted them. With a flick of the wrist the shades were open, simple, stunning, dark. That was the way they operated. If he had thought it allowable, he would have sprung on a lighter, trendier pair, rock star shades.
He felt like Johnny Cash in these cheap black shades, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Marluxia wanted him to water the garden, but...forget that! It was such a nice day, clear air, bright sun. What else did those stupid flowers need? If anything needed watering, it was him...
The others might have laughed, though it was hard to imagine that mirthful feeling, he hadn't really laughed in, well, it felt like forever to him. Ever since they'd started him on this stupid training regimen, the force of his water summonings had increased from the equivalent of a faucet or a garden hose to torrents, eruptions of blue wrath. Waterspouts. He could summon waterspouts now. Crush his enemies.
But he couldn't pour himself a damned glass of water! it was like they had been working these last few months to flip a little switch in him, from 'squirt' to 'blast', like something you'd expect to see on one of those fancy hose attachments. He wished he could go back, but the others were preparing for something. The low numbers. What were they planning? What was all this work for? They would tell him eventually. He doubted he would appreciate the 'scope' of it, as Xigbar was fond of saying, him and his stupid gun puns, but he wasn't a hippie hick. Maybe a little hippie, but more rock n' roll, he liked to think. Sure, he was a free spirit, but he could kick some serious a** now. Kick some a**, but he still couldn't pour himself a simple glass of water.
Sighing, he laced his fingers behind his neck, long, tough musician's fingers, sinking them into the thick, long hair lying against it, and closed his eyes. Let Marluxia water his own stupid plants, Demyx wasn't goin' anywhere.
Grudgingly, he admitted that he would probably just crush them accidentally anyway. The switch had been flicked, and he hadn't figured out how to set it back yet. Or even if he could set it back.
Roxas Can Fly! A LITERATE RP Guild.
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