Taira Saionji

~General Information~
Name: Taira Saionji
Nickname/Alias: -
Weight: 140 lbs.
Height: 5' 10"
Age: 15
Gender: Male

~Character Information~
Appearance:
Taira is a pale person by nature; he couldn't tan even if he tried. He's somewhere just above albino, though he doesn't actually have any skin conditions that he is aware of. His overall body structure can be described as lean and tall. His muscles are thin and wiry, more like that of a gymnast's than a weight-lifter's. Taira's face has a heart shape to it, with a slightly pointed chin, poking out a little farther beneath the mouth than is typically normal. His lips are pale, much like the rest of his body, and hide behind them two rows of bleached teeth, and a long pink tongue. Above his mouth lies a narrow, bony nose; set between two wide brown eyes. His eyebrows are thin and dark brown, nearly black in color. Taira's left ear is pierced with a golden hoop. Taira's hair is long and light brown, though he keeps the bangs only long enough to reach his mouth. His hair style is unkempt and wild, almost unworthy of being called a hairstyle at all. Like his hair, the hair on his arms and legs are dark brown, but not very thick; so they're hardly noticeable.
Clothing:
Taira wears mostly button up shirts, nice pants, and ties. This isn't exactly a suitable attire for your average shinobi, but as a promoter of avoiding violence, he feels he doesn't necessarily have to dress for combat. Typically his button up shirts are white and plane, with the buttons undone down a little past his collar bone. He wears the tie loose, buttoning up the shirt and pulling it tighter when he has important or official business to attend to. His shoes look like black loafers, and they are, but they're significantly more comfortable. Because of the fabric inside the shoe, they feel more like slippers than anything else.
Personality:
If ever there were a word to describe Taira, it would be witty. He could spin words all day, any day. Verbally speaking, he dances around the average person like a natives around a fire. He is constantly cheerful and welcoming, even when insulting. Often times his smile alone is enough to end a verbal or physical spar he's dug himself into. He thinks, and speaks, in metaphor most of the time; but not the fancy kind. He speaks in metaphor in such a subtle way, most of the time a less poetical person wouldn't even notice. Taira has a sad air about him, despite his cheerful voice and welcoming smile. His eyes gaze off past what he sees, as if they know and yearn for something more; and have accepted that it will never come.

It's this resigned, sad aura that often pulls people to him, even more so than the welcoming nature of his smile. A careful and intuitive person might notice the tension in that smile around the corners, like it were being held up by wires; and at times that's exactly what it feels like. People, even when they don't realize it, tend to notice this and that catches their interest. Taira very rarely drops the mask that is his smile and wit, and when he does he usually snaps back into shape in a matter of minutes or even seconds. He may be defeated and lost inside, but he refuses to let it show through, he refuses to let others fall in with him.

Taira is a pacifist, armed with the full force and wit of a well-armed and trained single combatant. He would much rather resolve situations with words than steel, but he will be damned if he dies without at least trying to defend himself. Taira would never take the life of an opponent, even an enemy in war. He finds every possible way to defeat or disarm his opponent without causing bodily harm, or without causing any more harm than is absolutely necessary.

While he can hold his own more than effectively in a single-person fight, he avoids them at all costs. Even more than those, however, are fights in which he is outnumbered. Taira is hopeless when fighting more than one person, because it takes most of his focus and control to successfully best just the one without harming him too badly. Technically speaking, however, if Taira were resigned to killing them, there is no doubt in his mind that Taira could kill at least five men at once. This is what scares Taira the most; he knows he can take a life.

He's a scholar, first and foremost, even before he's a shinobi. Taira always has his nose in a book or a pen to a page. He adheres strictly to the saying "A writer should read ten times more than he writes", typically going far over that ratio. Because of proper reading and studying skills, Taira retains probably upwards of 80% of what he reads. He enjoys quoting men he views as having been greater than himself, though he will never say exactly who said the quote originally, or elaborate on the quote further if others are confused.

Sexually speaking, Taira is a desert. He has far too many scars and twice as many insecurities, so he doesn't really ever show more than what's absolutely necessary of his body. He is a terrible romantic, though, and finds himself falling hard for women often. He is paranoid, on the other hand, and has a hard time trusting others; especially significant others. It's because of this lack of trust that he can't hold down a relationship for long, and the same reason that he won't show others his scars or talk about himself. As far as favorites go, he has none. He doesn't believe in picking favorites because he feels it's unfair to everything else in that category to pick just one. He does, however, have 'least favorites'. Emotionally he's pretty cool all in all. He isn't very passionate about much of anything, not even the things he loves to do. Even when discussing an interesting topic, his views on violence, or a book he's reading his voice remains calm and light as if he were discussing the weather.

~Clan Information~
Clan Name: -
Kekei Genkai: -
Clan Symbol: -
Clan History: -
Ability Summary: -

~Rank/Village Information~
Classification: Genin
Letter Rank: C
Village: Kazangakure

~Skill Information~
Skill Specialty: Taijutsu
Elemental Affinity: Wind

Stats

Code:

Physical Stats
Speed: 14
Stamina: 10
Strength: 8
Agility: 10
Physical Endurance: 10
Chakra Stats
Chakra Reserves: 8
Chakra Control: 5
Intelligence: 15 

~Jutsu~
Name:
Rank:
Element:
Description:



~History/RP Sample~
History/Background Story:
Taira was not born in these lands. In fact, he hasn't even been a citizen of them for all that long. The only reason he ever stepped foot on new soil was because of his sensei and master, Eki Gisou. His life was a rough one from the start, and in short went a little like this.

Taira was born on a cold October day, the day of the Pagan holiday, All-Hallows Eve. His mother died of complications, bringing him into the world and leaving his father in the process. His father grieved, but chose to keep Taira and raise him as his own anyway. However, this would prove much too difficult for Taira's father, and the roles would end up changing though Taira was still extremely young. They lived in a bad part of Sunagakure, just by the southern wall where the only shinobi who patrolled were those who were on wall duty, and they didn't care about what went on below. Taira was forced to get tough fast, he taught himself to fight and scare away people even before joining in the Shinobi Academy. Taira's father didn't know about Taira signing up; he was a retired ninja who knew all too well the damage that life can do to someone. So, Taira would show up to the first day, filthy and beaten down badly, without a parent. He felt nothing but embarrassment when he saw the condition of all of the other shinobi children, each with one or even two parents holding their hands as they entered the grounds. The teachers caught one look at him, with his long and untidy hair and his torn up clothes that seemed too big for him, and labeled him trouble. They kept a close eye on him, and treated him coldly. All except for one of his teachers. He soon grew close to the teacher, treating him like an uncle or even a second father. This man, who was named Ibi, showed no prejudice against Taira for the place that he lived or the way that he dressed. That was a rare thing, even amongst the students who had outcast him. He was a scumbag, a nobody, a criminal in their eyes, though he had done nothing wrong yet. It was two years into the academy that Taira's father died. Taira still lived in the house, alone, trying to make a life for himself. His father's retirement checks had been keeping food on the table and a roof over their head, now Taira had to resort to criminal efforts to bring in money. In his side of the village no one cared who did what, so getting away with it was easy, and it brought in just enough to keep him alive. For two years he lived this way, toughening up more and more as he proceeded to develop as a shinobi. It was then that he graduated, finally giving him a chance to make an honest living.

It wasn't two days after he'd graduated that he found Eki Gisou. At first he was an intimidating man, a man to be feared. Taira had never seen him around the village before, but he recognized the man instantly. This was one of the legendary Goryu. Both intrigued and terrified, Taira shadowed the expert ninja for a day. Upon seeing the man in combat with a much less qualified shinobi, Taira discovered his new calling. He would follow that man farther than he ever though possible, even over seas, and train under him in the arts given him by his clan.

Roleplay Sample:
Taken from a Bleach RP:


The Captain Commander was not shocked to find each Captain come alone. He understood that Captains were both great friends and great rivals, that and the fact that their barracks were so far apart generally led to a sense of isolation amongst the squads. He sighed as the first Captains arrived, sitting back in the chair in a slouching position, with one leg thrown across the arm rest to his left and his body tilted toward his right. His head rested in a tired manner upon his right hand, tilted to the side. The almond eyes that would soon become his tools for unerring scrutiny, the two things that would keep him alive in a dog-eat-dog world, scanned over the latest arrival warily. He gave his first captain a firm nod as he was addressed, making a mental note of the name and squad.

"You are the Kenpachi, one of my oldest Captains at the moment, correct?" He asked rhetorically, had the captain answered it would have been cut off or completely ignored anyway. It was clear that the Captain Commander was not interested in things like small talk and answers to questions he already knew the answer to. He also knew what at least one Captain would think, he looked far too young. Characteristically someone in his seat of power should be a bearded old man covered in scars from the thousands of wars he had participated in. This would be the Captain's fatal flaw if they came to the conclusion that they could overpower him through this observation. Hopefully if they were that stupid they would act on it quickly.

The next captain would arrive, head of the Sixth Division. He had no real interest in the Captain, he was neither a threat or a great ally for him at the moment, he was just there. As a result, he paid even less attention to this captain than he had Kenpachi. No more than a nod would this Captain be honored with, no questions rhetorical or otherwise. He glimpsed at the Captain with a bored and uninterested glare, one that showed he didn't appreciate the rude entrance. Doors were made to be used, he didn't care how proud one was that they had learned a simple trick like shunpo, they should keep showing it off in their system until they get into battle.

Next would come the Captain of the twelfth division. He had studied up on the captains beforehand, so identifying them was easier than they seemed to think it was. Hearing their names over and over would surely get annoying, he would have to break that habit quickly. Again he nodded toward the Captain in a bored manner. The ennui radiating off of the Captain Commander was thick, almost palpable. Anyone with eyes could tell that he neither wanted to be there or be in their company. As Xuntaii thought about the places he'd rather be and company he'd rather keep, which was none at all, he came to a conclusion. He could spend the rest of his lifetime and a few days after thinking about these things, but that wouldn't solve anything.

Just as he pondered over this, a man that Xuntaii could tell would be difficult with him appeared. He didn't seem enthusiastic to be there, or to be serving under him. In fact, he looked to be as bored and uninterested in these things as Xuntaii was. He figured that the man either really liked his position as a captain, or was trying to make sure that no subjects he didn't want entering other's thoughts were unearthed. What else could bring a man so obviously opposed to being in that spot to show up to the meeting? He only nodded to the captains, and Xuntaii didn't mind. In fact, he was the first to not introduce himself, and the first to not waste his time. Xuntaii knew enough of the man already, which would be his name and squad. Ryusaki of the Ninth Division, let's see what kind of fun you bring to my rule... He thought to himself menacingly. He mentally challenged the captain to say so much as a word against the Captain, or to find the habit of following orders too troubling for him. Anything would do if it started a conflict Xuntaii would be amused with for at least an hour.

He paid little to no attention to Kazumi, of the seventh division, as he appeared in a puff of smoke. It seemed he wasn't one for normal entrances. However, he was also one of his oldest captains, and would most likely prove a worthy ally. As he found himself lost in thought about the future and what he would have to do to make sure everything occured as planned, he was greeted by yet another captain. This captain was a man that nearly everyone knew about for one reason. The man was a womanizer, and an ardent one at that. The man bore the name Gin, leading the third Squad. With a sigh, Xuntaii pulled himself up from the palatial chair he had been draped over.

"Well, I seem to have wasted enough time in the hopes that more would show. So, you all will be the only ones with the special privilege that I am going to grant you. No I will not be revoking your ranks if you didn't show, so other captains may rest assured. However, if I find later that another Captain was just playing hookie and had no real reason to avoid the meeting, he will be left on a ledge that I can push him off of at any moment. Now, enough with the useless part of this meeting. I understand that many of you don't know me, some of you underestimate me, others don't trust me, and a few of you would go so far as to thinking of having me thrown from my rank. You needn't argue with this statement or even think about it, it is a fact that I know, whether you do or not. To crush any doubts and remove any silly ambitions from your heads, I am going to make an offer to the Captains who showed up to this meeting. If any of you wish to take my rank away from me, or dethrone me and have someone else take it, I am giving you the chance to challenge me to a fair duel under your conditions by dawn three days from now. I expect the challenge to come from you directly, with the conditions already laid out completely. There will be no negotiations, unless your conditions are absurd. I will be the judge of fair and unfair conditions, and if I say they are unfair you will change them or leave my barracks." He said in a bored, almost monotonous voice. He didn't look at his fellow Captains, he didn't pace around, he simply stood because it was customary to do so if one has the floor. When he finished his little rant, he dropped himself back into the chair in the same position he had sat in while the Captains filed in. He motioned with his left hand for any Captains to speak if they had something they wanted to bring to everyone's attention.

Taken from an AU sample:

Andrew woke in what he assumed would be a tangle of limbs and sheets, if he hadn't been strapped down. He screamed and he cried out until the burning in his throat became too much and the needle in his arm overwhelmed him, and he fell back asleep. The man didn't come this time, the dreams of that day didn't flood him; they never did when the nice men brought the needles. Andrew liked when they brought the needles; it got quiet.

Again he woke, this time more calmly. He started at first when he felt the tension around his wrists and then he remembered where he was, and why he was there. Andrew relaxed and stared up at the brilliantly dull ceiling, bleached so white he couldn't even pass the time by counting stains or cracks. He had stared at the ceiling every day for a year now, and he'd learned every bump, speck, and other meaningless imperfection on every last tile. Still, he smiled to himself. He smiled for the peaceful few minutes he would have, and he smiled for the irony of this situation.

Andrew had once worked with a health insurance company, he dealt in answering phone calls mostly; they didn't pay for his stay here. His parents were doing that for him, because they were always nice. Always so... nice. Andrew lost his train of thought, not for the first time-though he couldn't remember the last time he'd thought in the first place- and certainly not for the last. Dreamily he let his head drop and roll to his right, and standing next to his bed he saw something that made his heart leap and his mouth open to scream. No screams came, only a painful burning and a hoarse murmur.

"Hi." The man said simply after a few short minutes of watching Andrew fight desperately against the restraints he had brought upon himself. The man-figment, really, if you want to be technical- waved at him, taking a seat in a small metal chair in the corner, and stared at Andrew blankly. "How goes it?"

Andrew would have responded if it didn't hurt so much to talk. He glared at the figment hatefully, and then thought of something. He closed his eyes hopefully, forcing them as tightly against each other as he possibly could. Despite the wishful thinking in his head, he couldn't shake the feeling that the figment remained. Still, he refused to open his eyes until it was gone.

"You'll hurt your eyes doing that." Came the figment's voice in a tone similar to the one used by Andrew's colleagues when they had been discussing the weather and other pointless things in the break room.

Nothing made Andrew's blood boil more than that apathetic tone of the figment's. He hated it so much. Over the past year that voice had become like nails on a chalkboard to him, and he was getting sick of it. He opened his eyes, shaking the blurriness from his vision, and bore holes into the figment with his stare. The figment smiled a hollow smile, and turned his attention to the small window near the top of one of Andrew's walls.

"I've had it." Andrew spat hoarsely, his throat crying out. It came out as less than a whisper, and yet the figment heard him perfectly. Andrew's lips broke into the grin of a crazed man with a foolproof plan. He bit down hard. It didn't take long for the blood to start flowing, nasty tasting sticky liquid in his mouth. He fought the urge to cough it up and choked down the vomit. There he lay, silently, waiting for the world to go black.

You have no jutsus but if your done...
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