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Your Username: Random Artist
Name: Beat
Class: Firearm
Race: Assault Rifle
Asset: AK-47
Years Since Awakening: (how old he/she actually is)
Appearance Age: (the age he/she appears to be)
Intended Faction: Smoking Barrels
Region of Origin: Abu-Asmira
Current Region: Abu-Asmira
Occupation: Delivery – I was thinking, either a manual deliveryman or someone who can train birds/owls/falcons for this purpose C: IT SEEMS SUPER COOOOL *__*
Social Standing: Middle class
Memorable Quote: (OPTIONAL)
Personality:
Laid back! - With all the stress a deliveryman gets, with animals chasing him out of yards, cranky homeowners or shady places that just don’t like somebody dropping off packages, how else could he survive if he didn’t adapt to such conditions? So Beat has developed a thoroughly calm nature, as passive as they come. Everything is pretty much a-ok by his rules, considering he lives in Abu-Asmira, a relatively calm place, he tends to go along with those ideals~ But don’t mistake calm and passive for a lack of strength, that would be a very misleading relation to make. His job, as mundane as it usually is, isn’t always the safest and he’s been forced to learn that the hard way around.
Slap Material! - Never refuse anyone. Never chase anyone. Never reject anyone. His three rules of life he learned early on, making him perfect charmer!fail material. He looooves to play it cool, without making promises or commitments. However, it takes a keen eye to note that while he avoids ever saying he will specifically commit/stay, he certainly doesn’t stop leading certain assumptions on. Beat never seems to have a solid footing in pretty much anything besides his job, often leaving his life with many other loopholes to go through. That’s a reason why he walks out with slap marks on his face a lot, but it’ll heal up!
Vague & Secretive – His personality and relationships are very open for someone to sift through, however, his private life is not. He avoids talking about his house, his home or what he did last night or what he will do next! His job requires a moderate amount of discreetness and he seems to have taken this model to heart. He rarely (if ever) invites anyone over, tells anyone his plans or releases other details of his life. Otherwise, he’s a little bit of a “didn’ask, didn’t mention” sort of guy. He wont tell you he went out with your best friend at one point .. but if she mentions it, he’s not going to deny it.
Personal War: Being such an old model, labeled as one of the first “true assault rifles,” I remember changing through countless hands and wielders who used me for reasons that blink through my memory with interchangeable faces. I know what I’m meant to do, what I’m supposed to do .. but the mundane process, just a matter of switching to a light skinned hand, a dark-skinned one or something in between ..I began to wonder, was the world as stifling as I saw it to be? It sure seemed like it. I was shot only to kill and I only got to see people and their last moments. It made me wonder, were there moments besides their last? There must have been but I’ve never seen any. But sometimes, there were glimpses of something else when strapped onto my wielder’s back or tucked into a truck. The people I met were the kind of people that were going to be killed now or later. But the people I saw .. they were different. They were smiling. Sometimes they were crying. I even saw some laughing and crying. That baffled me. But at the same time, I felt like laughing and crying too. Until I saw some bullets enter them .. Was that all I was good for, ending lives? How fun might it be if I could meet them when they were alive? What about those pirates on the ocean, those kids playing in battered warzones or Russian folkdances that all those laughing people gathered around for? Hell, the only time I saw those was when I came to break it up. Didn’t anyone stop to think I might want to join the fun?
No matter who it was, I was stuck with party poopers. All of them. All of them with flags taped to their arms and backs. Goddamn, if there was a world outside of this one, I’m going to find it. The world can’t be as small as I think it is.
And I’ll make sure its hell of a lot more enjoyable than this.
If it isn’t, Ill keep looking.

Armistician History: When Beat first woke up, he thought of one single statement that was going to summarize the rest of his life. On one hand, there were things he was going to be sad about. But he felt, that he was going to enjoy life very much. That was the line that ran through his head when he woke up, sprawled on the ground, red eyes staring up towards the sky. He couldn’t help but laugh .. it started out as a chuckle at first and then it became a sort of giddy laughter, like there was a party that nobody else knew about.
He had always thought, how wonderful it could be, to enjoy life for once? To be the source of that enjoyment instead of the sole ending to it .. Running his hand through his hair, he slicked his hair back, sitting up and grinning ear to ear. His hand ran over his arms, across his chest and patting his legs. His palm ran curiously over his features, his gaze disappearing into blackened oblivion, simply taking in everything. He could hear—not just the limited range of his previous wielders’s boots shuffling or screams ringing simultaneously with his barrel clicking. No, he could hear what seemed like everything. The drop of water, footsteps from the main street behind him, people talking through their windows .. Both hands reached up to pull at his newfound ears curiously.
Damn.
In an entirely good way. He was going to rock this town.
That had been the beginning.
The current present was a little different.
Beat sat in the corner of the open extended room, his legs sprawled against the bench and an owl perched on each shoulder. He was holding up a bowl of grain, his head leaning back to identify the sound of footsteps behind him. He grinned, in acknowledgement and greeting, his black hair falling back. Standing behind him was his mentor—the man who Beat liked to say, came before time started and knew it all. The man had grey hair, although it was clear he hadn’t succumbed to the fidelities of his age, his sharp features behind his years and his health in excellent shape.

“Hey old man.”

His health was good enough rap the young weapon for his familiarity.

“You sure have gotten mouthy. A little too familiar, brat?” Another thwap on Beat’s head.

“Cut me some slack. I’m your favorite pupil—After working here for the last few years, you’d think I might deserve a break!” Beat argued, the owls flying away to a nearby branch in the artificial garden, with a netted roofing. When walking in, one could see a sign hanging from the roof, “delivery birds.” One of the many methods of their world was a manual delivery—not by armistice but also by birds. It was one of the ways to assure that one’s mail did not get compromised or to assure the speed and quality. After all, birds flew a lot faster than their boots and slippered feet. But that didn’t mean that Beat didn’t do the manual kind either.
“You’ve been working to pay off that ridiculous debt you made from partying. You’re lucky I took you in, boy.” The old mean grumbled, motioning for Beat to move over on the bench to make room. “I’d never have taken a irresponsible newly awakened brat like you if I had a choice.” He grumbled, littering some food in a bucket on the ground for the owls to prey on and chase.

“Well, that’s cuz you’re a softy. Besides, I’m glad you didn’t throw me out when I took refuge here. Damn, I had some killer debt-collectors on my a**.” Beat reminisced, both arms stretching in relief. He shook his head, loosening the scarf around his neck, falling over his black-clothed chest. He looked at his mentor, turning his head to the side, reaching out to pat a firm shoulder. The shoulder that always seemed so large to him, even now, filled with an immense amount of will and burdens. Including, the burden of Beat and his dependence on the man. “What gives? You don’t usually come in for storytime. Don’t tell me you’re dying soon. That news might be hard to handle.”

“I hope it breaks you. But that’s not what I came here for.” The man laughed heartily, the throaty sound giving off the experience of a million more than Beat, his bulky frame bouncing up and down with amusement. “I came to ask you, don’t you want to do more with your life than take over an old man’s delivery job?”
“Ha! You admitted you’re an old man.”
“Oh god, don’t get started on this. Give me a straight answer for once, why don’t you? Your mouth’s good for more than that.”
“Oh yeaaah, a lot more. “
“Spare me, I’ve been through it all.”
“How many girls?”
“Not for your wet ears. Now, give me an answer.”
Beat answered without a pause, folding his hands behind his head. “I like this job. It lets me meet people— I get to see all sorts of smiles. Sometimes, I

(Description of your Armistician's past leading up to what they're up to right now! You can definitely include their experiences in the Wielder World, but what we really would like to learn about is what their awakening was like and how they've lived in Armistice ever since then. Did they meet anyone that changed their lives? What kind of job(s) did they take? Context is important here! Feel free to write this in first or third person.)


Man who took him in asking why doesn’t he want to be more but he answers that its fun meeting all these people for now