CANONS - ANTi-HOLiCS GANG!

[REAAA]

CECILE ALABASTER,
leader of the ANT-iHOLiCs gang
taken by feedy!



TERRELL ALBATROSS,
co-leader of the ANTi-HOLiCs gang
taken by izzie!



QAYIN GEITZ,
ranked number 3
taken by qayin!



YOU PICK THE NAME,
ranked number 4
reserved by nat!
face claim - shion kaito, vocaloid

the jokester. makes everyone laugh and happy when the tough gets going. has a thing for the co-leader of the HOLiCs gang, but can't admit it nor can he accept the fact. has knowledge of tai kwon do and knows how to work a microscope. has a thing for ice cream and cake, but likes sweets in general. cooperative, considerate and in denial about a lot of things.



JULIENNE DE VANILLE,
ranked number 5
taken by oro!

[REAAA]

RESERVING A CANON

Reservations only last a week; please try to have your application done by then. If you have trouble finding icons of the face claim, contact Rea.

[blockquote][blockquote][size=1][b]Alias:[/b] Your name.
[b]Canon:[/b] Give the Rank/Position of the canon of your choice.
[b]RP Sample:[/b] A sample of you using this character. Quick little thing; at least 250+ words, please.[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[terrell albatross]

Alias: Izzie
Canon: co-leader of the ANTi-HOLiCs gang
RP Sample:
The wind from the window blew over his hair softly, as he gazed down at the bodies that lay unmoving. The stricken faces that gazed at him with lifeless eyes. Yet he did not care, putting on the same fake mask he always wore. He walked over the bodies, careful not to let his feet touch them. The screams of the fallen people echoed in his mind, as he soon stopped. Peering at them all, he wondered if this was his true fate also. To die, while doing what he believed in.

He did not chuckle, neither did he laugh at all of this war. He did not make a sound, not move a muscle, he didn't even crack a smile. He bent down, with all this blood stain. He thought not even one simple thing would outlast. Yet he was wrong, in the middle of this gruesome and horrible war, was a flower. A flower with purple petals, plucking it gently, he held it in his hand. All of the faces, staring at him were now erased from his eyesight.

He turned back and began to walk calmly, hearing the screams again. Yet this time, he did not push them into the back of his mind. No, he let them stay there, and whisper and yell at him. As if it was his fault, that they were foolish enough to come across this place. Their turf, this place belonged to the ANT-iHOLiCs , that is how it always would be.

Those foolish people who dared cross this line, would have death as the punishment. Would he stop the rest of them from killing them, no. Because it was there fault for choosing that side, choosing to go with the Holics. Yet he felt a gruesome feeling run up his spine, wasn't his sister a Holic? Wouldn't he have to kill her as well? Would his hands be stained with her blood, and he would have to live with the pain.

Once again he shoved this thought back into his head. Muttering to himself, that it was all just a lie, he wouldn't kill her. Yet no matter how many times he said this to himself. That feeling always came back to him, taunting and watching. He felt it hanging over his head, ready to strike. Yet, he wouldn't allow that, he would fight this feeling. He desperatley had to fight this feeling, no matter what.

[REAAA]

RESERVED!
nice sample! (: you have one week to make him.

[qayin geitz]

Alias: Qayin
Canon: #3 of ANTi-HOLiC's.
RP Sample: (( I have no originality, so forgive this somewhat useless post... ))

The smell of blood, the shadows cast deep in the ridges of the walls, painting images of a corrupted heart bent in repose. The bursts of speckles that rimmed the edges of her peripheral vision enhanced what would have been a nauseous sight to behold. It was not rare for her to spot a dancer amongst the dead, watching their dyed shoes splash further into the shallow lakes of crimson. The familiar sense of temporary grief, burrowing it's way into the marrow of her bones and - truthfully - the depths of her lungs and heart.

She sought not the glory of gold, nor the incessant impassivity and inconsequence. It was a shallow notion, as she further expanded on her thoughts. As bright, teal eyes brought forth the present and the future, she thought nothing of the past coincidences. In fact, she would rather bite the end of a carrot stick than admit to her attempted redemption and faults - ah, but she would also refute the claim that such an act would be primitive at best. An example of her misgivings, she extracted the expertise she needed from actions long forgotten and brushed the memories off like dust.

Pessimism stalled progress, and the female was very much interested in improved procession. If, in fact, it would help the gang to surpass the deadlock between the ANTi-HOLiC's and HOLiC's, then she would gladly fall to purgatory. As if it was a sin in the first place; everyone here seemed to be made on some scale of success, and if anything, a sin was not a sin if everyone sinned. Though it could be further studied, this line of questioning and purposeful thought, the female was also far more interested in the phantom figure.

Yet, as graceful the movements and clumsy the touch, she could not tell why. Her eyes certainly bore no sense of familiarity to her thoughts, and the intruder's physiognomy was thrown into a hapless brim of night. It was difficult to surmise the events surrounding this enigma, and the fighter was more than intrigued by this somewhat pagan dance around the bleeding mannequins.

It would be beneficial for her now, to approach this frame of a human, and inquire on its means of sacrifice. There was no need for hesitance, and there was no need for terror. She liked to boast her skills, not in the form of trembled words, but of clenched fists and wide-swept blows to the neck. If the specter proved to be of minimal danger, then she could very well deploy her skills at hand - literally and figuratively - without a wasted blink.

She could learn something from the wails and shrieks, and at that point, she emerged from her observation point. The emerald strands of her hair warped around her face, concealing the concave of her cheek and strained jaw, much in anticipation for violence. But her lips were curved in a drowning smile, the stranger continuing her prance around the floors. It was a wonder she did not fall from the slick brush strokes of blood.

"Excusez-moi," she stepped into the ice-white of moonlight, her lithe frame firm, showing nothing but confidence flitting across her visage, "Mon petit chou, I see you at loss amongst your mute brethren but - and forgive me if they are not - is there a service I may offer in your plight?"

Alas, the tiger, not the lady, flew forth in a sea of rage. Arms flailing, her hair sticking from the congealed blood wiped across her nose and cheeks. Forward, faster, blindly - see not with your eyes, but with your heart! - and still she moved as if in melancholic insanity. Such agonized weeping! Such hateful syllables, spilling from a carnivorous mind!

And how the teal eyes shut softly, a sigh escaping the lips below the nose. How she wondered, where this place was going, when even terms of endearment did nothing to quell a troubled wanderer. And so she brought her defenses up, digits curling and clenched. A show and tell, "I cannot blame the fool," readying to strike the body that approached madly and perhaps...

A ghost of a smile spread across her countenance.

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RESERVED!
amazing sample! you have one week for her application. :]