[attr="class","freiwanttop"]

I NEED BLOOD IN THE CUT

[attr="class","freiwantimg"]

[attr="class","freiwantinfo"]

[attr="class","freiwantmid"]CHARACTER FACTION team rocket

[attr="class","freiwantmid"]CHARACTER RANK grunt

[attr="class","freiwantmid"]FACE CLAIM ch’en // arknights

[attr="class","freiwanttop"]ABOUT THE CHARACTER

[attr="class","freiwantbot"]

[break]

---

[break][break]
[break]

thunder rumble and petrichor / split lips, shiners / white-knuckle grip / seeing red / an axe to grind / neon buzz / a death glare / stormy blues and achy grays / the weight of living / playing a part / scalding cup ramen / sour candy crush / flipping the bird / falling in line and resenting the ease of it / wild animal eyes / walk backward into hell / the soul crush of lonely / flinching / believing oneself inherently unlovable / angry tears / cicada song and sweltering heat / thick humidity before the bottom drops / constant ambient noise / caffeine jitters / leather jackets / a mean left hook
[break][break]
reticent, jaded, aggressive, short-tempered, touch-starved, avoidant, isolated, distrusting, wounded, foul, sensitive, scared, chip on her shoulder, bold, practical, stealthy, survivalist, loyal (when earned,) conditionally sweet, feral[break][break]
[break][break]

---

[break][break]

at a glance, in passing, or through a window- standing in the ring, posied for the signal, she doesn’t look like much. Just a scrap of a girl crouched lower than 5’6, her hands taped, thin and wiry with angry ruby eyes that burn and burn and burn. Bare skin exposed under athletic gear betray burgeoning tattoo addiction, patterns crawling over her skin like twining, climbing ivy. Inky blue hair pulled back in low tails, and again, she doesnt look like much. No heavier than a feather, but she sinks like a stone—but she’s spry and tough. and she doesn’t go down for good easily. ask who you should bet on; the spectator standing alongside points right at her, “Murk.”
[break][break]
[break][break]
cw: implications of abuse[break][break]
Maybe you didn’t come into the world a hurricane of cruelty and feral anger. Maybe you didn’t, but you figure that you may as well have. Torrential and overwhelming. There is no recollection of where you actually came from. All you knew were the where the crashing sounds that came back to your memory at night, acrid smoke in your nose, burning your eyes. There was a trapped helplessness, and a fear. A child all alone means you’re brought to an orphanage.[break][break]

They ask your name, but you cannot remember. Your only identifier is the hospital tag on your wrist, labeling you. No name, no one to claim you. Just—[break][break]

[break][break]

So they call you Blue.[break][break]

And you grow up mean.[break][break]

But that’s not wholly true is it? There’s one bright patch in your past, bright as the moon she’s named for and she softens your sharp, fearful edges. She is your friend, your only one. But eventually she leaves you alone again. She writes, and it’s not the same. One day she disappears from your world entirely, and then so do you.[break][break]

You were never allowed the chance to roam free, and so you felt no homesickness for the Johto you never saw. Instead, your world became the Slateport underbelly, spit out on the docks. You tumble under the wrong shadowy wings. Or maybe the right ones.[break][break]

Lucius Cardello had a purpose for you–and you quickly earned your place in the fighting rings he organized. A prize pet, known for fighting with brutality and ruthlessness unmatched. No matter how much bigger or stronger they are. You are relentless and scrappy and unchecked.[break][break]

He is not a compassionate or sweet handler. But when you do well, he rewards you with a hand under your chin, staining his skin with the slick drip of blood from your busted lip. Sometimes he calls you Bluebell. Like the flower, he says, though you’ve never seen the real thing. It is better than a tag on a wrist or a stamp on some paperwork, and it is the closest thing to care as you’ve ever seen. But he is undeniably cruel, too. You are still not your own and he makes sure that you know this.[break][break]

When the underground ring is busted up, you get lost in the cracks. It’s an unfortunate truth, but you figure a lot of drifters do. Cagey and irritable, you are nothing more than coiled up energy. Predatory and fearful, hard to snare. The same way Cardello sees your potential, so too does Rocket. To you, it’s just one cage swapped for another, but you don’t know how to be free.[break][break]

And when you feel, you feel so much. Every emotion takes up every corner of your too small frame. Like you’re going to burst at the seams. It makes the anger you feel that much more blinding. But you make no apologies for yourself, because the paltry excuse is that you just cannot help it. You were raised mean, and the fight is the only thing you’ve ever known. You lost yourself so long ago you don’t know when; you cannot lose this too.[break][break]

[break][break]