#maxabre

Send me "alt!" and I'll introduce you to a character I've rped in the past, want to play in the future or are currently playing somewhere else! [ Accepting ]

     [ 📝 ] :: Crisp clean white sheets of paper lie atop his desk neatly, as freshly penned ink gracefully etched upon each piece, dry and mar the blank canvas with prose of each human soul collected and archived in the grim reaper data base. Documents, intently transcribed; descriptions of the collection process and how the withered human who once breathed life further decayed in their last fruitful moments of their life.

The mortal life; once vibrant, abstract, profound– thus decay to dust, to ash, to falter as a shell housing a soul no more. This was the job of a shinigami; the path one of unearthly being must take to bring about his own salvation in death. There was to be no feeling involved in the job; one does as they are instructed by those on high, and completes so by the rules. It was their duty as death bringers; the chariot to the end, the guide to the afterlife. In the hope that one day, shinigami can to find peace within their own death.

A purgatorial penance, the shinigami kind must serve. As they brought about their demise in mortal life by their own hand; and to atone for their sin, they must work their way to salvation.

Which is why the supervisor took his occupation so seriously. He longed for peaceful rest, for tranquil departure and entrance into eternal sleep. His soul was somber, placated with little hope and remorse for the living. With his hardened exterior and cold calloused demeanor, he would not allow others to hinder his work. He was strict, easy to whip those lethargic and uninspired into shape within the collections department to ensure his penance be served in good standing and haste.

As a gloved hand gracefully grips a writing pen, dances about the a strewn paperwork that is in need of his review and signature of approval, his other gently pushes his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. The door to his office clicks as it opens, and the shinigami does not grant the newfound guest in a glance of greeting.

Instead, he remains within his work, his sharp tone resonating the stagnant stillness as he speaks.

 ❮❮  ❛Honestly, it is rather rude of you to enter into my quarters without proper announcement. A simple knock of the door would have been acceptable.❜ ❯❯

He dots the end of the sentence he had been writing on paper, trailing two toned chartreuse eyes in unnerving diligence toward the one who stand amidst the door way. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, a grit of his teeth in disgust when finding that the unwanted guest was none other than Ms. Grell Sutcliff; the bumbling wretch pest of collections. This woman, this perverse wicked wench; her presence remained of great pain to him. And as she stand before him now, he could begin to feel the blood within him boil and his foul mood rise. What was it that she wanted? In monotonous tone of voice, he speaks.

❮ ❮  ❛Then again, how could I expect such courtesy from a pest such as you, Sutcliff. Your manner could be of comparison to that of a hound, however. In due time, you could be trained. Think of this as training lesson number one, Sutcliff. Exit my office now and close the door behind you. If what you need to bother me with is of great importance, then I suggest you knock during your second chance.❜  ❯ ❯

The supervisor waves his left hand as if to shoo her away, returning back to his work as he does so.

❮ ❮  ❛Go on, exit. Needn’t you waste my time further.❜  ❯ ❯

Character: William T. Spears from Kuroshitsuji

     T eeth will drag against the lower part of her lip that had found itself to be busted open after an intense struggle with her new found peers; eyes avoiding everyone that had dare glanced her way. Anyone could see that Elizabeth had gotten in trouble, seeing as to how the handcuffs they had on her were out for all to see.

     I t was the third attempt of escape this week. This time, it had taken at least four older reapers to tackle the young reaper down and drag her back to this hellhole she had to endure. No one could blame the new reaper for wanting to escape. Especially since she was somewhat different than the others who were here. What with the ability to remember her past and linger on about it, everyone could see she was different. And because of being different and being in a place she knows she doesn’t belong, Elizabeth had tried to escape. Again. This time almost obtaining her goal. That was, until they ruined it all.

     S ilently the girl had been sulking in the corner of the hallway that they stuck her in, unable to do much of anything save for sit there and avoid the judgmental stares of all her peers. The blonde did everything to avoid her surroundings. But would soon be challenged by a reaper who’d been bold enough to stand in front of her and wait for her to speak. And when the peer’s frame would be in her line of eyesight, Elizabeth will lift her head up in order to see who had the audacity to approach her in the first place; revealing to the other the scratch that went alongside her cheek and the corner of her lips that was beginning to swell. Along with that sad look that seemed to be forever etched into her features.

     ‘ Hm? ‘ A pause, as the blonde attempts to examine the other who appeared to also be examining her. ‘ What? Do I look funny? Are my injuries bad at all...? ‘

“Awwww he’s just heartbroken!!! Poor UT!” uhhhhHhhH nope that’s someone broken from reality entirely

Send Me Drabble Prompts

[We haven’t named it yet, but this is the AU where they’re interacting in the canon timeframe!]

Empty, empty.  There was nothing more to feel.  Elias had believed it for decades, that only the vastness of a searing, Hellish nothing stretched to forge his eternity, and the only antidote lay buried deep in both years and graveyard dirt.  The death throes of his sanity had been spent with desperate fingers rewinding the reels of the dead, clutching a mask of hollow grins, and spinning threads of ill-conceived fantasy — I will conquer death, then she will love me — threatening by the hour to snap and pitch him headlong into a void endless, lifeless, and hopeless.  

This had been his reality.But now his truth had been torn.He could feel, in that instant, he did! Something, anything, everything.

And he’d barely touched Grell.

He ran the memory of the night over and over in his head, wearing it smooth and calming him like a worry-stone.  Naturally, he had gone to find her, knowing soon as she entered his shop in the Earl’s tow that there was much more to her story.  Not only was she one deemed Jack the Ripper by a terrorized London — which would have been more than fascinating enough — but a reaper in disguise.  A few hours slinking through Whitechapel’s copious shadow was all it took, a victim’s scream and he’d found her.  A diligent butler, she must have told her mistress to hide from prying eyes, or perhaps was indulging alone that night; Angelina was nowhere to be seen.  Answers were all he’d come for. 

Eyes careful as he strode toward her, a smug smile creased his face as he realized he had caught her, quite literally, red-handed.  “I know your secret~,” he taunted, not bothering for any sort of greeting.  “Secrets, actually,” he pushed enough hair out of his face to reveal just one dual-toned iris.  There was no real risk in it; she was clearly not on cooperative terms with the Dispatch.  “I can’t help but wonder how you’re hiding your eyes- not even I know that one.  You must be bright.”  

His gaze drifted over her, haughty and intent.  Something about her made him want to look closer, deeper.  It was the facade, he told himself, but he would have been lying to say she was not beautiful.   High cheekbones displayed themselves under perfect — blood-covered — ivory skin, thick brunette hair pulled back in a bow, and round glasses he believed she’d purposefully chosen to give her knowing eyes a doe-like illusion.  The fabric of her black coat was drenched with enough blood to drip to the cold cobblestone below, and his smile grew as he noticed flecks of gore smattered thin across her sleeves and shoes.  “And vicious,” he added jovially, stepping close enough to corner her in the low-arched doorway.

“Though I do wonder what else you’re hiding under this disguise,” he finished, bringing his hand to her cheek.  To emphasize his words, he had planned to pantomime ripping off some imaginary mask; but froze as his fingertips made contact with her skin.  Elias’ teasing smile vanished as his lips parted in shock, and he thought he heard Grell gasp as their eyes flashed to one another’s, each frantically searching the other for an explanation to what they’d done.  His heart jumped and hammered inside his chest, and he felt a surge of warmth, even peace, not only through his body but spirit; something he had not felt since the days he used to pray.   

Touching her, he was not empty.

Greed for this feeling would come.  If you could call it greed.  Would you call a mortal greedy for water, for air?  He remembered steeling himself against the urge to pull her into him, to kiss her until he could not remember his own name.  You love someone else, a voice in his head hissed, though it seemed so weak, a pitiful lie in that moment, with his fingers still against her skin.  But a much more significant voice in him — his soul, perhaps — knew he was bracing against the inevitable.  They had broken the barrier in some tide of time, and it wouldn’t be long before they were swept into that eternal sea.

He stepped away, reeling in that dreamstate way only one who’s just had their world turned upside-down can.  “Bring your corpses to me.  Or the Yard will find you two quick.”  

A knock at his door drew him out of his reverie, and he slowly rose, wondering miserably how much of that feeling had he made up, woven of his indelibly lonely years and ill, frenzied mind.  Something so miraculous could never be real for him.  

But a visitor this late allowed some hope spring to his heart.  Could it be her?  His parting words to Grell were meant as a kindness, or a lure, but it could have been blackmail if it had to be.  Real or not, he wanted to see her again, no matter the circumstance.  

✦ Character Development Questions — Accepting

11. In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?

The most afraid he has ever been was directly after Grell turned him into the Dispatch, in the period between when he was first brought to the prison and the first time she came to his cell, and he learned (what he thought) was ‘the truth’.  When they came for him, the Dispatch officers told him outright that she gave him over, but of course he thought it was a lie, he never suspected Grell to actually have betrayed him for one second, no matter how many troubles they had been having.  He believed instead that she was imprisoned too, and that they had probably caught her sneaking off to see him.  He was terrified of her being in the Dispatch’s prison- he knew what they did to traitors and deserters, even more so after accounting for her prior offenses, or William’s personal vendetta against her.  The thought of what they must have been doing to her was horrifying.  He still put up a fight so they wouldn’t suspect anything, but he more or less let them take him to prison, thinking it was his best chance to learn Grell’s whereabouts, and that he could break them both out with some careful planning (and that she would then want to heal their relationship from its rocky state, after he saved her).  

A part of him truly believed he and Grell, both being near-immortal, would be together forever.  Things were far from perfect, especially in the period leading up to this, but she was still the best thing that had ever happened to him.  The end of that promise of a true forever is what horrified him; it was the first time he had experienced any sort of true peace, and the prospect of that being ripped away was sheer terror.   Was this the end of their forever? How badly were they hurting her? Was she alive?  This was his fault.  How could he get her out, get them both out?

21. If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?

This is… a tricky question, and I suppose the best answer would be that he believes he deserves some of it.  He understands the concept of ‘right and wrong’, and believes it is an irrefutable fact that divine justice will always find those who do wrong, including himself.  However, he sincerely believes God hates him and is always going to make him suffer, no matter what he does- so what is the point of abiding by the typical good vs. bad dichotomy?  He knows some of his pain is punishment for his sins, but also believes he has experienced far more than his fair share in his time, which directly led him to hate God and desert the Dispatch.

When Grell or his relationship with her is is concerned, however, he believes he deserves everything that has happened to him, that it is the result of him not caring enough about her, or not loving her enough, or not being smart enough to give her the help she needed.  He cannot ever bring himself to believe she has done anything wrong toward him.  Even when she turned him in, as I talked about in the previous question, he refused to believe it had really been the ‘her’ he loved.  If the ‘real’ Grell was evil (which, considering she was personally twisting the knife in his wounds and he thought she was enjoying it, he did believe), he still couldn’t stop himself from adoring the persona he had fallen in love with.  In his mind he effectively severed the ‘two Grells’ who inhabited the same body, as he had started to think of it, the evil one having ‘killed’ the sweet one.  Through everything their relationship has suffered, there has always been this image of Grell as a divine, pure, sweet presence in his life, as someone who could never hurt him- and thusly, even if he knows on a logical level that not everything is his fault, his spirit will always believe that anything that comes between them is of his own doing, since he doesn’t deserve her.   ((And considering how far above everyone else he sees himself, this gives a good perspective on the intensity of his love for her.))

44. How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?

Without meaning it, it’s incredibly easy to say.  For him, anything is easy to say completely void of meaning.  

NOW YOU’RE MAKING ME CRY OMG I LOVE YOU DEARLY ❤️❤️❤️ you’re seriously the best

Ask Me Anything About My Character!

In modern era, what is Grell’s name in his phone? 

In modern era, Grell’s name on his phone was originally just “Grell”- not for lack of creativity, but rather because using the phone for anything other than the occasional call was something foreign — not to mention completely uninteresting and ultimately useless — to him before reuniting with Grell.  However after being scolded by his darling for the contact name not being affectionate enough, he changed it to ‘Kitten’, a nickname he knew she loved.  A couple of these 💋 🌹 💕  emojis appear after the name too since Grell added them in one night while looking through his phone, and he never had the heart to take them out.

In the early parts of their relationship, around 1910ish, how often would they contact each other?

In those very early stages of their relationship, the frequency of their interactions would slowly build, and it would have depended entirely on Grell’s schedule.  The only reason they had any time together in the first place was that Grell, being a highly skilled — if delinquent — Reaper, was originally assigned to keep tabs on Undertaker and his activities.  Though the Dispatch may have decided at that point bringing him in was more trouble than he was worth, they still wanted someone to take on the task of making sure he was not trying to tamper with Death itself any longer.  She would come and watch him, and from day one he recognized her presence, but decided to ignore it the first couple times he saw glimpses of crimson on the periphery of his vision.  After a short while though he started to talk in passing to her, teasing, really; just ‘hellos’, smirks, questioning why she hadn’t come back to wreak more havoc in the human world- it was starting to get boring.  Even though she was trying not to let herself be seen- subtlety was never Grell’s strongsuit and that made Undertaker laugh.