Post by Mirany Kurosaki on Jun 18, 2008 13:30:36 GMT
[/url][/right]. kurosaki mirany .
× .name » kurosaki, mirany
× .age » fourteen
× .height » four feet three inches.
× .weight » between sixty and seventy pounds.
× .division / rank » n/a,
× .appearance »
Looks can be deceiving... especially in the case of young Mirany .
She appears to be small and shy, just a stammering child too nervous to say anything... That first judgment stays true to itself for a while, but only when she first meets someone. After that... well, it's terribly wrong, after that.
Her looks are inherited from her relation to Kuchiki Rukia somewhere down the long line of 1000 years... Anyone who had seen the deceased shinigami would instantly know the two were somehow related. Her hair color is not only unusual, but hard to describe, as well -- its hue lies somewhere between black and a dark shade of purple; it all depends on the lighting in where she is. At daybreak or sunset or in an area of pale light, it appears to be a dark purple color with natural lavender highlights; at a location of high or vivid light, the shade falls closer to a darker blue-black; in darkness, it appears to be a raven black color. Straight, thick and always coming loose when she ties it up, her hair falls limply down to her shoulders, perhaps a bit lower. At times, the ends curl of their own accord, and at other times the remain straight and flair outwards. Her bangs fall from her hairline down to the corners of her eyes, parted at the right and sometimes falling over her eyes and blocking them from ones view; sometimes, she sweeps them to the side and pins them up there. A few strands of hair rebel, however, and are always seeming to be perfectly placed between her nose and left eye, just hanging there. Some may think this odd, but those strands of hair are meant to be there. If one were to get up and smell her hair, one would find that it smelled lightly of strawberries and jasmine. Usually, Mirany's hair is let out, without much care put into styling it. Her silky hair frames a round face, childlike in appearance. Her cheekbones are neither too low nor too high, but placed near the height of the end of her nose, which is small and button-like, slightly upturned at the end. Her lips are pale and thin, usually gracing her features with a grin.
Mirany's eyes are, by far, her greatest weapon. Her eyes are large and round, framed with thick eye-lashes. They are brilliant hues of purple, from shades of violet and lavender, to plum and amethyst, and sometimes almost black. If one were to look closely, they would find that, amidst the dark pools of purple, paler speckles dot her irises. They change depending on her mood and lay out all her emotions for the world to see -- her eyes are, truly, the windows to her soul. Just by looking at them, one would know what she was thinking.
Anyone who was to look upon her body would instantly be able to tell that she is built for speed and balance, rather than strength and endurance. She is rather thin, with a flat chest and narrow waist. Standing at a grand total of four feet and three inches, and weighing between sixty and seventy pounds, she doesn't look gaunt, just a bit too thin. Her build doesn't make her seem able to play sports, but she is an extremely fast runner. Her frame is delicate and petite; her arms are frail and her hands small, the fingers thin and short. Her small size, however, gives her an advantage by making her quick, agile, and light, although she is far too clumsy to let the speed last for more than a few moments before she ends up tripping over her own two feet. Her skin color is almost startling to look upon -- a pale ivy tone that makes her appear sickly and accompanies her scrawny stature. It is as if she was born from the snow, but, when felt, her skin is rather warm to the touch. Her body remains un-pierced and unmarked, not even earring-holes in her ear-lobes.
Her style of clothing and accessories vary, but mostly depend on the season. At school, she wears the uniform without adjustment, although she sometimes tries to make the skirt longer than its limitations will allow; outside of that, however, she doesn't necessarily have a 'style,' so to speak. If one were to classify her style of clothing, it would be scattered through many areas, whereas she is usually seen in whatever she dubs comfortable. Sometimes she can be seen in jeans, basketball shorts, sweatpants, cargo pants, etc, while at other times, she might just wear a loose calf-length dress or skirt. Her hair, although rarely in any style other than let straight out, can seldom be adorned with a simple headband, ribbon, or barrette. On her feet are usually sneakers or boots, and during the warmer months, flip-flops and sandals. Around her neck, she always wears a heart-shaped key pendant, carved of amethyst agate -- her mystical birthstone -- on a thin silver chain; her parents had it made for her at birth. The stone appears to change colors with her eyes, and appears to be the source of her spiritual powers.[/ul]
× .personality »
»_ butterflies & birds
»_ literature & history
»_ rabbits
»_ drawing
»_ cooking && baking
»_ singing
»_ water
»_ nature
»_ hugs
»_ pink
»_ nature
»_ sweets
»_ strawberries & milk
»_ jasmine
»_ sunlight
»_ animals
»_ chocolate
»_ climbing trees
»_ drawing
»_ green tea
»_ fireflies
»_ dancing && singing
»_ making friends
»_ proverbs
»_ stars
»_ morning
»_ happy endings
[/ul]dislikes ,
»_ fighting
»_ the scent of roses
»_ violence
»_ crying
»_ eggplant & onions
»_ being ill
»_ blood
»_ darkness & small spaces [she is violently claustrophobic]
»_ loneliness
»_ spiders
»_ bullies
»_ gore
»_ thunder & lightning
»_ storms
»_ dark nights
»_ clouds
»_ sad endings
[/ul]strengths ,
»_ faithfulness & loyalty
»_ consideration
»_ hopefulness
»_ great at singing
»_ optimism
»_ sensitivity towards others
»_ tolerance & patience
»_ adamant in her beliefs
»_ being around people she cares for[/ul]
weaknesses ,
»_ overly curious
»_ hurt easily
»_ extremely claustrophobic
»_ physically weak & tiny
»_ doesn't stand up for herself
»_ terribly naive & innocent
»_ impulsive & whimsical
»_ always worrying
»_ easy to take advantage of
»_ extremely trusting
»_ scared of many things
»_ overworks herself
»_ easy to read
»_ shy & nervous
»_ tends to believe the best of everyone
»_ has qualms about saying 'no'[/ul]
habits ,
»_ keeps eyes downcast
»_ speaks in a low and quiet voice
»_ spaces out at random moments
»_ impulsively speaks and acts
»_ bites her finger-nails[/ul]
[/ul][/sub][/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]
[/b]
»_ thunder & lightning
»_ darkness & small spaces
»_ spiders
»_ dying alone
»_ being lonely
»_ elevators
»_ being weak & ill
»_ not being strong & of use
»_ not being able to pay back those who help her
»_ being left behind
»_ death.[/ul]
hopes ,
»_ to have no regrets
»_ peace
»_ to overcome her fears
»_ to change the world.[/ul][/ul]
× .history »
father [43].
__________» brother; age seventeen; shinigami.
__________» twin brother; age fourteen; possesses some spiritual powers.[/ul]
On December twenty-seventh, at 4:59 a.m., Mirany was born as the third and youngest Kurosaki child or her immediate family.
Her mother died from illness soon after the birth of her and her twin, so they grew up with their father. As the youngest, even though by only four minutes to her twin, and only girl, Mirany was always cared for and protected by her brothers, and she was always very close to them, and also to their father. They always looked after her and made sure she was safe and happy, and were sort of over-protective of her. She also had health problems at a young age, making her weak and sickly, and contributing to the protection they gave her. That's the main reason she feels like she's a burden to them; they always cared for and nurtured her every whim. At an early age, she realized this, and felt qualms about having them do everything for her; that's why she finds it hard to express what she wants now.
At an early age, probably around two or three years, Mirany began to realize that not everyone could see the floating figures she could. She talked to her eldest brother about it, and found that he could, too, along with the rest of the family. She saw her first shinigami later that year, and watched him perform a soul burial on a plus, sending the ghost to Soul Society. Ever since then, ghosts and spirits never cease to amaze and intrigue her.
At the age of six, Mirany was at a beach with her family; her fascination with water started then, although she didn't, and still doesn't, know how to swim. She was up at the edge of a cliff, staring down into the water far below her, when the storm clouds started to gather. She doesn't really remember the rest; now, it's just a blur of colors and sounds to her. Thunder struck; she jumped up in surprise... and fell. She fell into the spray and horror of the deep depths of the ocean below her, and probably wouldn't have made it if it hadn't been for her family, who had noticed immediately and swam out to save her. The family went home right after, even thought the sky was clearing up quickly after the near threat of rain. Because of this, and everything else her family had done for her, she felt that she owed them and still feels that way.
She first discovered her most helpful power at the age of eight. She and her twin were out riding their new bicycles by the river hillside, but the ground was still wet from the previous day's rain. She remembers that she had no trouble keeping up with him, and remembers when she noticed that he had fallen behind only when his cry stopped her in her tracks. She ran back to him and saw his injury; there was blood everywhere and no one who she could call for help was to be seen. She tried to pick him up and run back to the clinic with him, but to no avail. Helpless and scared, she kneeled beside him and couldn't stop crying over his squirming body. Then, he was suddenly better. They both had no idea what had happened, but when they finally realized what she could do, she practiced the power on any small injured animals that she found.
As she grew older, Mirany learned more and more about ghosts and shinigami, and can now easily recognize one. She meets ghosts as often as she attends school now, and would really like to go to Soul Society first chance she gets. For now, however, all she can do is patiently wait for what the future will bring her.[/ul]
× .abilities »
» Mai no Shirayuki × This is an offensive ice-based attack, meaning 'dance of white snow.' It forms a flurry of ice and snow, attacking the enemy. For anyone else, this attack would be very effective, but Mirany's unwillingness to injure degrades the power of this attack.
» Soyokaze × This is one of her more low, untrained abilities, and one of the newest ones she has learned of. With it, she is enabled to control the course of the winds, direction, and speed.
× .zanpakuto / bow / doll » n/a.
× .rp-sample » [ From Of Infinite Twilight ]
The wind was a soft, tender whisper through the night, brushing the priestess's cheek softly in passing. Her dark eyes grazed over the layout of land that lay so peacefully beneath her, and as she focused on individual areas, she remembered being there. The Archon's palace, where she had first met Seth... the Port, where they had released Oblek... The ziggurat at the heart of the City of the Dead, where the previous Archon had passed on to her his note... And below that, where the tombs lay, dark and undisturbed -- where she had been trapped on the terrible Night of the Shadow all those years ago, in the musty, airless tombs. Had it been just three years ago? It seemed like so many more. Old memories brought the smallest of smiles to her lips, but the smiles faded, each after just a fleeting second. They passed, just like the moments in which the memories took place. All her memories were just a jumble of people and noises and scents and colors, a medley of things that had passed and wouldn't come again. Now, as she turned her gaze toward the deep blue of the large expanse of shimmering sea that spread out beneath her, welcoming and beckoning, she thought of her home at Mylos, her father sitting in his library of scrolls, awaiting a letter from her with that stifled pride he always felt as he thought of her. She imagined him staring out from their drafty house above the harbor at midday as gulls screeched by, waiting for the messenger through which she would send him a letter, watching the Island from so many miles away.
Mirany turned away before the homesickness could overcome her, but then shook her head and turned back. She couldn't be homesick, for the Island was her home now... it had been her home for the past three years, even more so than it had been for the short time she had been there before she had become Bearer. A small smile graced her thin lips, unwavering. Now, her home was where Alexos was, where Seth and Oblek and the Jackal were. Where the Nine were, and where she was Speaker-to-the-God. And she was perfectly content with things being that way. After all, they were far better off than before, than the few long months that Argelin had reigned by terror...
Glancing down at the blank piece of papyrus beside her, she fingered the stylus before dipping it in ink and starting the letter to her father, carefully drawing out each wedge-shaped hieroglyphic, so as not to make a mistake, her face illuminated by the brilliant light of the low moon.
The breeze rustled the white linen of the pleated tunic she wore, sending her dark hair into her eyes; she pushed the strands behind her ears and paused in her writing, looking far out to west, toward the Mountains of the Moon. From where she sat beside the pit of the Oracle, the deathly pinnacles and steep peaks were dark against the ghostly blue-purple of the night sky, the silver disk of the moon, hovering above the horizon where the sun would rise, lighting the cliffs behind which the sun sank daily. Seth and the others had been there once -- Alexos, Oblek, the Jackal, the Fox. They had found the Well of Songs, and the Archon had brought back the rain and rivers, just like he had promised. As she had been being masked Speaker, they must have been drinking from the Well...
Looking back now, she wondered how they had ever even succeeded in getting Alexos to the House of Choosing to become Archon. Sitting by the misty fumes of the Oracle, she could remember every thing about those nine days, right from the letter she had received from the previous Archon on the first day to the ninth day, when she had brought the rain from the Rain Queen's Garden. Even now, it still amazed her, what the god -- the thirteen-year-old boy Alexos -- could do, and she remembered when she hadn't even believed the god existed. For what kind of god would let the Port and City suffer the drought and famish it had been suffering? What kind of god would keep the rain from his people? Now she knew the answer -- the kind of god that was being defiled and betrayed and tainted with false words. But now...
Now, everything was alright.
Tearing her gaze from the mountains in the distance, Mirany glanced back at the parchment, continuing her letter. She thought about telling her father everything that had happened -- how they had gotten Alexos to be Archon, how she had been masked Speaker as Alexos and the others drank from the Well of Songs, how Argelin had killed the only person he had ever cared about, and how Argelin's madness drove them to the Underworld. About how she had brought the rain, several times, from the Rain Queen's Garden. She thought about confiding in her father all the things she thought, all the emotions she felt. But she didn't, for she no longer knew her father, and she no longer knew if she could trust him, or whoever the letter ended up with. For now, all she could trust in was the god.
So instead of telling her father everything, she told him that things were alright, that she was happy... that she missed him. And she told him of the rain, of the frequent downpours and the green crops that now grew everywhere. Of the Oracle, and of the god, and how he could turn stones to water and revive the rivers. She wrote about how she was now Speaker, how the god spoke to her inside her mind. And last of all, she wrote of the Island, of the Port and the City, of the dark, intertwining tombs beneath them all, of the desert, and of the Draxis, the great river that flowed through the Port and the Caves of Python, and into the desert where only the god knew how far it went. Well, technically, the god wasn't the only one who knew of how far the Draxis flowed, for Seth and the Jackal and Oblek and the Fox had been there, too; they had seen the dried up course of the once [and now] great river on their way to the Well of Songs, they had walked along its banks and seen it overflow on their way back. Seth had told her about it, once, about the lion and the animals, the creatures they had faced, about the egg that had shattered and Alexos had revived, about how the highest peak of the Mountains of the Moon was made of diamond, how they had each faced their reflections at the Well. And Alexos had told her about how Seth had died at the same instant Hermia had, and how Alexos had brought him back to life; Mirany remembered feeling queasy and sick when she had been told this, and then awed at the power of the god. But instead of telling her father about this, she concluded the letter and signed her name with a flourish; she would save all that for another time, when she could talk to him in person. Once more, she felt the pang of how she missed him, but she shook it away. She was happy enough here.
And then Mirany sat by the Oracle, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms around them, her chin rested at their tops and her head tilted to the side, the wind blowing in her face and her gaze fixed on the ocean in the east. The moon was sinking, halfway into the Valley of the Sunrise already, when the first crack of sunlight colored the clouds pink and the ocean orange and the desert red. Below, she saw the sentinels at the bridge between the Island and the City, and at the desert gate and on the harbor. She saw the City of the Dead, and thought of Kreon's kingdom below, and she saw the Archon's Palace, and thought of Alexos, the God-in-the-World. And she sat there, just breathing in and out, knowing that nothing was wrong, nothing disturbed, and everything perfectly at balance. She assured herself that the future ahead of her would be steady and simple, assured herself that she'd always be able to keep her thought and dreams. And she assured herself that she would never be alone, for she was the Oracle; the god's voice was inside her. And she looked up to see the sun rising as the gong chimed for the dawn ritual to begin.
She would need to be heading to the Temple soon.
She looked down beside her, where, opposite of the parchment, the open-mouthed mask of the Speaker lay with it's incised cheekbones and dark eyeholes, it's coiled and beaded and strung feathers and gold disks stirring in the ocean breeze. And the slight girl sat there, the wind brushing back her brown hair so that it was away from her brown eyes that shone in the rose-tinted dawn. They were pensive and relaxed and calm as she thought of her memories, the memories she enjoyed remembering, the painful memories that guided her through the future, and the memories she had of speaking with the god, the memories that reminded her that she was never alone. The memories that made her who she was, the ones that made her Mirany, Speaker-to-the-God.
And as she rose and traveled swiftly down the stone path of the Oracle, hurrying to the Temple with a smile on her lips, she remembered that she was, indeed, never alone. For the voice of the god was within her, and she trusted his voice more than she trusted her own.
And as she crossed the loggia to the Temple where the Nine were already gathered and gazed up at the statue of the god, it whispered in her ear, 'The sun is chasing the darkness away, Mirany,' and she knew, so long as that voice was there, everything would be alright.
Mirany turned away before the homesickness could overcome her, but then shook her head and turned back. She couldn't be homesick, for the Island was her home now... it had been her home for the past three years, even more so than it had been for the short time she had been there before she had become Bearer. A small smile graced her thin lips, unwavering. Now, her home was where Alexos was, where Seth and Oblek and the Jackal were. Where the Nine were, and where she was Speaker-to-the-God. And she was perfectly content with things being that way. After all, they were far better off than before, than the few long months that Argelin had reigned by terror...
Glancing down at the blank piece of papyrus beside her, she fingered the stylus before dipping it in ink and starting the letter to her father, carefully drawing out each wedge-shaped hieroglyphic, so as not to make a mistake, her face illuminated by the brilliant light of the low moon.
The breeze rustled the white linen of the pleated tunic she wore, sending her dark hair into her eyes; she pushed the strands behind her ears and paused in her writing, looking far out to west, toward the Mountains of the Moon. From where she sat beside the pit of the Oracle, the deathly pinnacles and steep peaks were dark against the ghostly blue-purple of the night sky, the silver disk of the moon, hovering above the horizon where the sun would rise, lighting the cliffs behind which the sun sank daily. Seth and the others had been there once -- Alexos, Oblek, the Jackal, the Fox. They had found the Well of Songs, and the Archon had brought back the rain and rivers, just like he had promised. As she had been being masked Speaker, they must have been drinking from the Well...
Looking back now, she wondered how they had ever even succeeded in getting Alexos to the House of Choosing to become Archon. Sitting by the misty fumes of the Oracle, she could remember every thing about those nine days, right from the letter she had received from the previous Archon on the first day to the ninth day, when she had brought the rain from the Rain Queen's Garden. Even now, it still amazed her, what the god -- the thirteen-year-old boy Alexos -- could do, and she remembered when she hadn't even believed the god existed. For what kind of god would let the Port and City suffer the drought and famish it had been suffering? What kind of god would keep the rain from his people? Now she knew the answer -- the kind of god that was being defiled and betrayed and tainted with false words. But now...
Now, everything was alright.
Tearing her gaze from the mountains in the distance, Mirany glanced back at the parchment, continuing her letter. She thought about telling her father everything that had happened -- how they had gotten Alexos to be Archon, how she had been masked Speaker as Alexos and the others drank from the Well of Songs, how Argelin had killed the only person he had ever cared about, and how Argelin's madness drove them to the Underworld. About how she had brought the rain, several times, from the Rain Queen's Garden. She thought about confiding in her father all the things she thought, all the emotions she felt. But she didn't, for she no longer knew her father, and she no longer knew if she could trust him, or whoever the letter ended up with. For now, all she could trust in was the god.
So instead of telling her father everything, she told him that things were alright, that she was happy... that she missed him. And she told him of the rain, of the frequent downpours and the green crops that now grew everywhere. Of the Oracle, and of the god, and how he could turn stones to water and revive the rivers. She wrote about how she was now Speaker, how the god spoke to her inside her mind. And last of all, she wrote of the Island, of the Port and the City, of the dark, intertwining tombs beneath them all, of the desert, and of the Draxis, the great river that flowed through the Port and the Caves of Python, and into the desert where only the god knew how far it went. Well, technically, the god wasn't the only one who knew of how far the Draxis flowed, for Seth and the Jackal and Oblek and the Fox had been there, too; they had seen the dried up course of the once [and now] great river on their way to the Well of Songs, they had walked along its banks and seen it overflow on their way back. Seth had told her about it, once, about the lion and the animals, the creatures they had faced, about the egg that had shattered and Alexos had revived, about how the highest peak of the Mountains of the Moon was made of diamond, how they had each faced their reflections at the Well. And Alexos had told her about how Seth had died at the same instant Hermia had, and how Alexos had brought him back to life; Mirany remembered feeling queasy and sick when she had been told this, and then awed at the power of the god. But instead of telling her father about this, she concluded the letter and signed her name with a flourish; she would save all that for another time, when she could talk to him in person. Once more, she felt the pang of how she missed him, but she shook it away. She was happy enough here.
And then Mirany sat by the Oracle, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms around them, her chin rested at their tops and her head tilted to the side, the wind blowing in her face and her gaze fixed on the ocean in the east. The moon was sinking, halfway into the Valley of the Sunrise already, when the first crack of sunlight colored the clouds pink and the ocean orange and the desert red. Below, she saw the sentinels at the bridge between the Island and the City, and at the desert gate and on the harbor. She saw the City of the Dead, and thought of Kreon's kingdom below, and she saw the Archon's Palace, and thought of Alexos, the God-in-the-World. And she sat there, just breathing in and out, knowing that nothing was wrong, nothing disturbed, and everything perfectly at balance. She assured herself that the future ahead of her would be steady and simple, assured herself that she'd always be able to keep her thought and dreams. And she assured herself that she would never be alone, for she was the Oracle; the god's voice was inside her. And she looked up to see the sun rising as the gong chimed for the dawn ritual to begin.
She would need to be heading to the Temple soon.
She looked down beside her, where, opposite of the parchment, the open-mouthed mask of the Speaker lay with it's incised cheekbones and dark eyeholes, it's coiled and beaded and strung feathers and gold disks stirring in the ocean breeze. And the slight girl sat there, the wind brushing back her brown hair so that it was away from her brown eyes that shone in the rose-tinted dawn. They were pensive and relaxed and calm as she thought of her memories, the memories she enjoyed remembering, the painful memories that guided her through the future, and the memories she had of speaking with the god, the memories that reminded her that she was never alone. The memories that made her who she was, the ones that made her Mirany, Speaker-to-the-God.
And as she rose and traveled swiftly down the stone path of the Oracle, hurrying to the Temple with a smile on her lips, she remembered that she was, indeed, never alone. For the voice of the god was within her, and she trusted his voice more than she trusted her own.
And as she crossed the loggia to the Temple where the Nine were already gathered and gazed up at the statue of the god, it whispered in her ear, 'The sun is chasing the darkness away, Mirany,' and she knew, so long as that voice was there, everything would be alright.
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