Post by Mr. Kaar on Aug 12, 2006 23:54:38 GMT -8
((OoC: This thread is open, but this is just to show that I'm taking my gloves back from the admins of 552, that time they said we could build items out of home made things. Well they took mine away after they decided Burn Griffs could have his and that we couldn't make items anymore. Oh and by the way go ahead and listen to This. Its the theme song to this thread. And I am aware that its Irony that the AMV is for Akabane and not Ginji.))
Normal day at PHS #259 as far as the new bloods where concerned. Fights over territory between the cliqs, or groups, and gangs. Teachers laying down the law on some unsuspected students. The older people from 259 watching for the perfect opertunity to cause hell for the eachers, not caring if the new bloods got in their way. But there was something different about today. In the courtyard a Senior boy had stepped into the wrong territory. They had attacked out of frustration being pushed outside of the school only being able to obtain the small part of the courtyard. He had been fighting for half an hour now, breathing deep, but they had finally done it, they had pushed this person to a point. A point where he regressed to another part of himself. This former self had a name as well.
"hehehehe. . . . hahahahaha. . . . HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The laugh says it all. His hands came up into a boxing form, but they did not close all the way, it appeared as though something was stopping them from closing. Dark gloves where apon his hands, the word:"Strike" etched into the metal slab under the knuckle part of the gloves. Short, spikey, golden blonde hair was seen moving up and down slightly as the breathing continued. Deep, dark, blue eyes where wide and piercing into the gang left standing in front of him. That look dripping from his eyes, the one that intranced his enemies with weak minds into losing focus and concentrating only on his eyes. White shirt, red vest with gold trimm. Black cargo pants. It was all clear in the daylight, every scar, and every injurry earned in battle.
Scars, lots of scars. So many scars most people would wince at the meer sight of the boy. Four horizontal scars across his right cheek, a scar over each eye looking like horns. A trail of red lightning shaped scars down his right arm, leading into those gloves. A diamond tattoo on his forehead, with two triangles tilted to fit an 8th of an inch away from the top two sides of the diamond. Multiple scars on his left arm from breakings, surgeries, and fights. It was a surprise to anyone this boy was still even alive.
A flinch of his right arm, and it shot downward fast and the fist clenched as his elbow popped, light flashed, what was it? it sounded familier, the hair on the boys head stood on end from this, as the people thought there eyes had decieved them, did electricity just shoot from his glove like water to the ground below. From the way the light hit their eyes it looked like the origin came from those scars on his arm, but then his other arm did the same. They where all scared now, ready to run away from this freak. Yet, their chance for running was over.
Normal day at PHS #259 as far as the new bloods where concerned. Fights over territory between the cliqs, or groups, and gangs. Teachers laying down the law on some unsuspected students. The older people from 259 watching for the perfect opertunity to cause hell for the eachers, not caring if the new bloods got in their way. But there was something different about today. In the courtyard a Senior boy had stepped into the wrong territory. They had attacked out of frustration being pushed outside of the school only being able to obtain the small part of the courtyard. He had been fighting for half an hour now, breathing deep, but they had finally done it, they had pushed this person to a point. A point where he regressed to another part of himself. This former self had a name as well.
"hehehehe. . . . hahahahaha. . . . HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The laugh says it all. His hands came up into a boxing form, but they did not close all the way, it appeared as though something was stopping them from closing. Dark gloves where apon his hands, the word:"Strike" etched into the metal slab under the knuckle part of the gloves. Short, spikey, golden blonde hair was seen moving up and down slightly as the breathing continued. Deep, dark, blue eyes where wide and piercing into the gang left standing in front of him. That look dripping from his eyes, the one that intranced his enemies with weak minds into losing focus and concentrating only on his eyes. White shirt, red vest with gold trimm. Black cargo pants. It was all clear in the daylight, every scar, and every injurry earned in battle.
Scars, lots of scars. So many scars most people would wince at the meer sight of the boy. Four horizontal scars across his right cheek, a scar over each eye looking like horns. A trail of red lightning shaped scars down his right arm, leading into those gloves. A diamond tattoo on his forehead, with two triangles tilted to fit an 8th of an inch away from the top two sides of the diamond. Multiple scars on his left arm from breakings, surgeries, and fights. It was a surprise to anyone this boy was still even alive.
A flinch of his right arm, and it shot downward fast and the fist clenched as his elbow popped, light flashed, what was it? it sounded familier, the hair on the boys head stood on end from this, as the people thought there eyes had decieved them, did electricity just shoot from his glove like water to the ground below. From the way the light hit their eyes it looked like the origin came from those scars on his arm, but then his other arm did the same. They where all scared now, ready to run away from this freak. Yet, their chance for running was over.
