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Having Fun at Other Peoples' Expense

[cutting people down is just a minor offense]

Created on 2007-08-09 01:00:29 (#13557182), last updated 2007-09-12

3 comments received, 8 comments posted

Plus Account [Gift]

2 Journal Entries, 2 Tags, 0 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 12 Userpics

Basic Info

Name:	Deidara
Website:	Or Back Down

Bio

♦ Mun Info

Mun Name: Katia, IB, Suika
Age: Fourteen
Gender: Female
Personal LiveJournal:

katia_san
AIM Screenname: IBClosetPerv
MSN: gullwee@hotmail.com
Email (preferred): gullwee@hotmail.com
Email (alternate): gullwee@gmail.com
Googledocs: gullwee@gmail.com

♦ Character Stats

Name: Deidara~♥
Age: Nineteen
Gender: Male ~~but sometimes it's hard to tell~~
Hair Colour: Blonde
Eye Colour: Cerulean blue
Height: 5' 11"
Weight: 145 lbs
Medical Info: Diagnosed with pyromania at 14, but had the condition long before that. Also, a mild smoker (usually smokes to keep his anxiety under control, especially when fire is unattainable)
Physical Traits: long blonde hair, usually worn half-up and covering his left eye; tall and athletic frame, but not muscular; adds an "un" to the end of his sentences; infamous devious grin
Talents/Abilities: knows his way around fire and arson; instantaneous flight instict (a habit from old days); accustomed to dealing with and nursing small cuts and burns; generally able to surive on the streets independently.

♦ Biography

Pyromania, was what they had called it. Pyromania. Nine letters, five syllables, just a word. But one word had changed the then-thirteen-year-old Deidara's life. It was a slap in the face for his disbelieving parents: two conservative, orderly adults who absolutely refused to believe anything at all was wrong with their youngest son. No matter how many times the doctors repeated it, no matter how many clinical reports (re)informed them their little Deidara was mentally unstable, they remained in denial. Deidara had intentionally lit a blaze in his school library; the entire building could have burned down if the fire department hadn't arrived when it had. It was the cold, hard truth. Slowly, more and more mysteries unravelled: where Deidara really went after school, what he was really spending his allowance on, what had been running through his head that day. The library blaze hadn't been his first arson, and wasn't about to be his last, either.

Deidara was hospitalized for various minor burns and further pshychiatric examinations. His parents lost it. Their third and youngest son had been taken away from them -- it was all they could do not to burst into the hospital and snatch him back from the prodding nurses holding him "captive". But less than a week later, the unstable blonde teen was missing. He had escaped, and was already setting fire after fire in neighbouring cities. Deidara was on the run, leaving behind a trail of arson and other assorted crimes. All too soon, the media had caught wind of the young-but-dangerous boy, and tales of a "deadly, insane young teen" spread like wildfire. His picture and name were constantly being blared out over the radio, splayed on news channels, emblazoned in the daily paper.

A generous reward was offered for his safe return. People were out after him, and one party had more sinister ideals in mind. One month after his fourteenth birthday, Deidara was abducted by a group calling themselves the Akatsuki Initiative and tricked into joining their organization. At first he despised them for finally tying him down, taking away his freedom. He'd been having the time of his life while on the run, setting fires as he pleased and playing by his own rules. He'd thought they'd be like the nurses and pshychiatrists of a few months ago: poking and prodding and asking question after question after question, treating him as though he were some scientific experiment or even an animal in a zoo. Or maybe they'd be like his teachers: appearing to be unaware while quietly taking notes on him, keeping a tab on the menace they could neither understand nor control. Or maybe they were bounty hunters, only taking him in for the hefty cash reward. But Akatsuki was none of those things. They did notstrive to understand what Deidara did not understand himself. They did not treat him like he was diseased. And they seemed to believe he himself was more valuable than the disgustingly large reward offered for his return. They wanted something from him, he knew that; he just wasn't sure what.

A week later, they asked him to set fire to a decrepit city warehouse. Actually asked him to burn something down! Though confused and a little suspicious, Deidara complied (and why pass up an opportunity like this one, anyways?). They actually seemed impressed by his destructive abilities, and then they told him: they wanted him simply because he was out of control and lethal. Akatsuki Initiative sought to use his abilities and experience for their own objectives.

And he wouldn't be the only "freak" there. For once in his life, he would belong; no one would think worse of him for his "condition", which had suddenly changed into a "talent". They were not going to try to change him. And under that promise, Deidara finally cooperated. His life was changing once again -- but for better or for worse, he couldn't quite tell.

♦ 3rd Person RP Sample

The autumn leaves crunched beneath his feet; crackling and rustling whispers of his presence. Whispers, or they should have been -- in the lifeless, silent jungle, each crackle was like a firework explosion, echoing through the trees. No good. Was a patrol any good if its presence were known to any potential intruders? Or was it better, more formidable, if they knew? Deidara couldn't decide.

Then he paused, pricking his ears. The crackling of the leaves stopped -- an entire two seconds after Deidara stilled himself. He wasn't alone.

His long, slim fingers closed around the small black revolver on his hip. The gun felt cold, unemotional as he unsheathed it; it had an unnatural, stoic aura about it. Like a ruthless, coldhearted killer. Like Deidara. (And yet so unlike Deidara.)

But Deidara hated the handgun. Despised it for what it was, what it was made from, what it did. Or rather, how it did it. A bullet was a cold, uncaring murder weapon. It did not feel. It did not savour its victims last screams and cries for mercy. It did not flicker and dance, lethal and beautiful all at once. It had no energy, no passion. There was no meaning, no art in it. A gunshot wound to the head was a miserable way to die.

Was it not Deidara's duty as an artist to seek greater inspiration, greater beauty? Did he not have to create art to live, to feel? Surely he would eradicate his own existence if he were forced to hold back. This was what he lived for, and what he would die for. Wouldn't it be fitting that each of his victims would be the same? Their deaths each a spectacular, grand final goodbye?

But now was not the time. The sleek chill of the revolver was Deidara's ticket back to reality. He would have to settle for this cold piece of metal to eliminate the intruder. There was not time nor space to create "art" now. True, he was an artist first, and an Akatsuki member second, but he had a duty to the Initiative as well. And that was to kill anyone who dared show up on the spot.

Deidara held the gun steady in his left hand, eyeing the spot where he'd heard the footfalls. He slowly, surely pulled the trigger back and --

BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM.

A scream pierced the air, and a dull thunk sounded as a body collapsed to the forest floor. One of his bullets had hit the mark. Deidara moved in to investigate --

And found that the blood spattered from his unfortunate victim's body had splashed on the surrounding foilage in a flawless disorder. Red here, red there, red everywhere, bursting with passion and raw energy.

(Art in its own way.)

♦ 1st Person Entry

I can't wait any longer, un.

My fingers were twitching last night. The cigarettes hardly even help anymore. I need release. (Not that kind of release, un!!) It's been nearly a week since I've seen fire. It needs to be a masterpiece this time around, un! To make up for what I've missed. The kind that explodes into orange and yellow and red and sends the people running and screaming. The kind that takes the fire department hours to put out, un! When you can feel the flames licking the air and the sky is a hazy expanse swirling above the smoke --

I'm leaving now, un. I don't care what Leader-sama will do to me when he finds out I left. I'm not trying to escape, and I won't get caught, un.

I'm just having a little fun.

♦ Permissions

Attack? Go ahead. ;)
Serverly injure? It should be fine by me. Just ask me if you plan to, and we can work something out.
Kill? No. I love him too much. ;__; But maybe, later on in the game.
Non-con? I'm comfortable doing that. :) Ask me first, though.
Het, yaoi, yuri? Sure, yay!, and not applicable.
Rating? As high as you want to go, but ask me for NC-17.

♦ Credits

Layout profile code from ReversesCollide, tweaked by

katia_san. Journal layout by

snubbly. Deidara's PB Model is Reita from the J-rock band Gazette; mun owns nothing.

Layout profile code thanks to ReversesCollide

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