Ahn-Takao Katashi

[Ahn-Takao Katashi]

KATASHI TAKAO AHN
Just a little more, c'mon and satisfy me.
Just a little more c'mon lets terrify me
Just a little more and I'll be done with it
Take my life and then I'll feel okay.

And I'm thinking of the worst things that I could say to you
Name|| Ahn-Takao Katashi
Nick Name|| Kat, KatKat, Kashi
Gender|| Decidedly male.
Birthday|| May 23.
Sexual Orientation|| Straight.
Ethnicity || 2 parts Korean | 1 part Japanese | 1 part English
Face Claim || Miyavi!
Age || 17.

and this never will be right with me
Hair||At it's most basic level, Katashi's hair is black, usually grown in all sorts of choppy locks until he's bored of it, and cut it all off (this, of course, follows a mild grieving period in which he decides to grow it out again). Currently, the sides of his head are finely shaved, defining the line of jaw and shoulder -- with a colorful mohawk spiking out from the middle of his skull and flowing down. The myriad colors ranges depending on his mood, respectively.
Eyes|| His eyes are rather large, considering his ethnicity, sitting wide in his face; slanted much like a cats, the iris itself is brown, though from a distance it usually decieves by looking black. When sunlight hits it, however, the iris glimmers with little natural sparkles of warmer brown and gold that bring a tenderness to his expression that is usually missing.
Height|| 185 cm (6'1)
Weight|| 120 lbs.
Body Type|| Slender, Katashi has a lanky sort of build, with lean muscles.
Skin Type|| Fair.
Distinguishing Features||
Tattoos||Several. He has tattoos running down the length of his back, a character across his left shoulder, along with inspirational word along his arm in a sleeve, to his knuckles. All in black.
Piercings|| Got any? Were?
Style|| Despite his visual eccentricity, Katashi wears the usual jeans and shirt combo that sits almost oddly with the rest of him. Band t-shirts with low collars, labels, usually black with splashes of color are his usual favorites. His jeans are well... jeans. Black jeans, blue jeans -- as long as he can wear his usual boots, and isn't confined to sweatshirts regardless of the weather, he's happy as a drunken clam.

I'm tongue tied and terrified of what I'll say.
Likes||
PCP
Alcohol
Sex
Women
Music
Spontaneity
Impossibility
Adventures
Clubs
The scent of sex
Motion
Exhilaration
Crack
Freedom

Dislikes||
Being sober for too long
Boredom
Squares
Rule-followers
Being alone
Religious bigots
Conformity
Decisions
Responsibility
Death
Walk of shame

Secrets||
Needs meds to go to sleep
Gets strangely excited by the sight of blood during intercourse
Dreams of his sister

Fears||
Drowning
Dying
Being alone
Growing up
Being a 'nobody'

Strengths||
Quick-thinking, , Katkat is rather clever, for all that he's whimsical, and can usually, if cornered, talk his way out of it... if he's patient enough to wait for it to work.
Agile, , fast on his feet, he's the build of a track runner, with no other strength to back him up in a fight -- he uses what he has.
Immortality of youth, , because of his age, he feels he is indestructible (which of course, he's not), and because he believes it, and acts it, the confidence usually gives him exactly what he wants: immortality. Nothing can touch him.
Adaptability, , he has the ability to 'go with the flow' bending with what the world throws at him, and finding a way to thoroughly enjoy it.
Opinionated, , he has his opinions, and won't let anyone, no matter who it is, alter them.

[color=CC33FFWeaknesses||

[/color]
Comfort, , Katkat is absolutely horrible at comforting people. When he tries to, it usually gets passed off as sexual harassment.
Stopping, , Once Katkat has begun, he's not likely to stop -- it's both a strength and a weakness, but mostly the latter, as his sense of self-preservation is pretty much nil.
Whimsical, , weak by nature, he's not the strong blast of wind that turns everyone's heads, but the whimsical, unreliable sort of wind. Capricious, to say the least, which makes him someone you should never really depend on.
Drugs, , I don't think there's a drug in the world he'll turn down, especially if it's not something he's tried before.
Sex, , he often doesn't see beyond the physicality of other people and will make sexual overtures toward others that might not be wanted.
Kittens, , yes... kittens. He has a soft spot for anything that so wholeheartedly loves someone else selflessly. Especially since he cannot conceive of ever doing it himself.

Dreams||
Finding true freedom
Falling for the perfect person

Over All Personality|| Hatred. Anger. Resentment. These are the things which define Katkat, loving, tender Katkat. Yes, impossible to believe the frustration, the drug abuse, the utter self-destruction this boy is capable of, when you glimpse such passion for life in his eyes. He is a dualist, wearing two masks that fracture into a million pieces. You think you know him, but he'll prove you wrong. There is more than the drugs, there is more than the music, than the loneliness which aches so painfully in his chest. There is the sexuality, the utter lust for a warm body beside his, around his, tasting him.

He grieves for a life he does not understand, is caught in the cycle of complexity that he barely can compute, but he feels -- Gods, how he can feel that he's meant for more, and the masochism of his very existence cuts him like a finely honed knife. He enjoys his travels, enjoys the plunder, the gains, the losses, the utter forgetfulness that comes with drugged sleep.

Temperamental, charming, laughing, he is the taunt in the midst of applause, the praise when there is nothing but a tempest sweeping back your hair. He watches you and knows only the desire to consume you, to know you, to see what makes you so different from him. Why can you be happy, and he cannot? Why must he wear this smile, this maniacal spasm of energy as if it is something that truly makes him happy? Why must he give in to these emotions when the sun goes down and feel the heavy burden of guilt ripping apart his insides.

Did he fail, somewhere along the way? Did he lose sight of what he wanted? Without a purpose, with no ambition to find it, but with the restlessness that comes with this static state, he lashes out at the world: hurting others with his cutting words, wounding women with his cock, his tenderness, his burning, consuming eyes. He holds himself apart from the rest, an introverted narcissism where he hates the world, thinks himself better for seeing it for what it is: but at the heart of it all, the center of the flame of lust and dust, and musk, he hates himself the most. His own skin disgusts him, so he tattoos beautiful things to hide his shame.

He cuts his hair to distort the reflection he must stare into every morning. He tears into his flesh with needles, with sharp edges for the sake of alterations. He drinks, he smokes, he snorts, he tastes, anything to blur the reality and make of him a vessel of perfection. His fear: to see the true state of what he is. He wants to be important. He doesn't want to be ordinary, doesn't want to be stuck in the rut of nothingness. So he walks, head held high though he hates the very idea of it all, spits in the face of convention and lights a cigarette, shaves his head, and looks heavy-lidded at the nearest girl, looking for a connection he is unable to grasp without the lustful consumption of flesh on heated flesh.

There is nothing in him that reflects cold calculations: he is a creature of whim. He feels, he reacts. Nothing less than a beast, chaos walking on two legs, thumping through a heart that races beneath his chest. He smiles, and does not know why; he fades into anonymity and dies in the process.

then we both go down together
Father|| Ahn Kyou, 41
Mother|| Ahn Amaterasu, 36
Siblings| Ahn Mi, 15
Pets|| No.
Other Important Family Members|| Mitsuko Yoichi, 26; Tsuya Taro, 16
History|| So the story, so the past, so the thrilling pages turn and turn, your eyes skimming these delicious curves of life that defined him, made him who he was -- for who was ever not shaped by their past, their background? No cruel story, though perhaps it was in his own way: simply a boy unable to cope, unable to manifest the desires in his heart and makes them real in his hands, in his words to communicate. No, no he had a role to play, a role to fulfill and it would not do for him to go slacking and wandering off.

So the tattoos, so the shaving of the head, the resentment, the growing embitterment, the hatred, the galling frustration of running in place for years and years within a place that brooked no argument. He was born to Kyou and Amaterasu (Ama), in a place that was far removed from the Hampton, New Jersey they now live. Cultural divisions aside, Kyou was an ambitious sort, owning a chain of gourmet restaurants, his wife the dowry that combined his own chain with another magnificent addition. It was nothing to this conquest, nothing in comparison to the first son, the eldest son. Yes, things were going well -- for the boy smiled, ran and laughed like all boys, lived like all boys, behaved like most boys. He adored his parents, and later his younger sister Mi-chan, little Mimi he would coddle and adore.

It wasn't long before he grew out of the phase of pure obedience, before music open up his soul to artistry, to a different form of success. To beauty, to perfection. He wanted to see the world, to know the world for what it was, to be free, to travel and see the places that existed just out of reach -- but he could not, for he was meant to take over the business, to study, and study, to become nothing but a meaningless drone in a fairy tale story that ended with grief. He met his fiance when he was 15, and hated her for what she represented. It didn't matter that she was as miserable as he, it didn't matter that her fate was sealed whether or not he married her: he was miserable, and he hated her for the chains she symbolized. He shaved his head, colored his hair, tattooed his body, sank deep into despair of drugs trying to forget, to rebel, to make of himself a person they would disown, they would despair of having. But still the oncoming wedding held itself before him, an awning, vicious black hole that was sucking the last of his soul.

He ran away.

They found him, eventually, luring him back to their home in Seoul with news of his sister, Ahn Mi. Married, at 15 to Mitsuko Yoichi, a man in his late twenties looking to find fame by tying himself with the titan of restaurants: the Ahn family. He came back to find Mi thin, miserable, beaten by her husband -- dying as she submitted to her fate, her smile hidden from the world. Was it any surprise to anyone who knows his character that he reacted without thinking, that he found the man responsible and beat him to a bloody pulp with a baseball bat? Was it any surprise at all that his parents, in horror of what they're son did, relocated to Hampton, NJ, showing their son as a transfer student into a school that would only further enhance his insanity, his need for bursting motion?

Well he's here, and they're waiting for him to graduate before he must marry Tsuya Taro, and he's going to have as much fun as possible before the inevitable destroys his mind, his body, and his spirit.

and you could see the melody
Your Name|| katkat works.
Your Age|| 20.
Experience|| Long time.
Role Play Sample||

He had wanted to be the flame to attract her, to lead her, delude her, it, him. He had wanted to smile, to hide in the mysticism of his mystery, of this aura of madness that gave him grace, that gave him a surety that he never felt, that he doubted he would ever truly feel. He had wanted, in effect, to be so many things that it was hardly any wonder that in the end, when all was said and done, he was nothing of the predator, nothing of the crawling, slinking cat that lurked in the shadows, that smiled and smiled, lead with the tip of his nose and the flick of his tail. He was human, lost ears and tail in an anti-climactic episode in the back of an alley. Gone, gone, and it had never bothered him, had never given him a niggling reminder that his virginity had been nothing but a quick step toward food. 20$ and it was gone. Like his dreams, like the memories -- a ghost of the past that crawled in the darkened niche of his hollow, lonely room.

Oh, the mood he was in! He was close to violence, a frustration that only made the madness worse. Itch, itch, and he wanted to scratch that itch, he wanted to run his fingers down the wounds, to agitate the healing. Bleed, bleed, and he would bleed. Bleed like the splash of blood in that dark alley. Death, and he had been the hand. Blood and sex, blood and death, and he had come out alive, too alive for his own liking. Kill me, he had once wanted, had once spoken, and the whispering words against pale, deadly lips had only brought to him a sensation of falling. Of satisfaction. Would he win -- could he ever win? But that was the flame, and he had relinquished it the moment he spoke, the moment her words meant more to him than the tone behind it.

Amusement twinkled in the amber depths of her eyes, and he stared at it like a cat would a flighty bird, ready to play, ready to paw at it for lack of other options. The sound fit her, and though the marbled picture of her burned the inside of his head, it wasn't the look of her that caught him, that gutted him and strung him up like the messiah. No, it was none of these things -- only the then and now, the words, the words! The soul, it struggled, wanted to touch, but that was neither here nor there. It was in the blood, and the blood was what he wanted to see, to taste, to smile as he was smiling, his lips curling up ever so slightly at the ends. Enigmatic smile, energy zapping through his spine, thrilling through the back circuits in his brain.

Arousal was quick to make him easy, quick to make him the prey, the fish hooked by the pole, and she the fisherman, the fisher-woman who smiled, ticked her tail as if it would be enough to lead him. So pathetic that it was, and he took the step forward as she spoke, as her tongue slid over the hard curves of her teeth, to click, to speak. The voice was perfection, "Not looking for naivety or innocence? Then I am sorry, but I think that you're in the wrong place."

So wrong, but so right. This place, this school. This damnable school -- brick and mortar had never been so astounding as the halls filled with the dark, luscious curves of children's cheeks, their eyes, slanted and dark, staring, staring. Demanding to know the why when he had never known the why. But she, different from the rest, though looking so much the same. This place? It was nothing but the beginning of his journey, and the beginning had a pretty foul start. Fingers clenched, eyes slid upward, always in motion, always watching the way in which her expression altered, her shoulders to shift, her hips to move; tail, tail, and he could not help but raise an eyebrow at the way in which it ticked. Tick, tock, tick, tock -- a pulse that he imagined when in tune with her heartbeat, a subconscious tie to the delirious beating of her heart. He would hold it -- let me hold it!

-------------- "Looking for me? Well, that is highly likely, there isn't much else of interest here.But, what makes you assume that I am neither naive nor innocent?"

He laughed then, the leviathan of relief sliding out from the dark haven of his subconscious. Filtered through blood, through the stress of his desperation. The chuckle was heavy, like honey pooling in his mouth, thick and sweet, and so different from the ragged, haggard appearance of his eyes, of the stress lines drawn in his face. But the laugh was it's own magic, and it transformed that tired, taut visage, took the mask and molded it into something softer, though hardly kinder. The interest was pooling in him, the need to hold her, to destroy her. "Kitten bells can't hide the truth."

He was the antagonist, the instigator that rubbed men and women the wrong way, waiting, desiring the lashing heat of their anger. Give him enough time, and he'd find the buttons to push, just the right words to say that would set her off, make her violent, volatile, rip away the mask of innocence, the mischief to give way to true animosity. The day, the hour, the minute was marked and he pined for it about as much as he pined for the name. Though he would never ask her, no... let him linger in her presence longer, to pull it out from her with small teasing, words. Carefully unravel the threads, to know, to get it from her -- impatience was usually not a problem for Kane, but this day was not usual.

She turned and left -- and he like a puppy followed, though for certain the way in which he walked spoke of possible danger, of a threat of power there, in the coiling muscles in his lanky body. Not thick, but there -- and the pain, the pain, he wanted the pain, would feed off of the pain and become stronger for it. Her voice warmed him, and he followed. One hand reached out, audacious and impossibly cheeky, but he had ever had the balls to push those around him just a little further. He followed, yes he followed, but she had something he wanted and he wouldn't let her leave his sight -- a motion of her head and her eyes pinned him over the slender curve of shoulder. A half smile, as enigmatic and mildly pained as the last and his hand reached out, toyed with the edges of her hair, "Besides, what fun is there in the everyday? What's a good adventure now and again?"

He would be her adventure, if she let him. He followed, yes, he was following and he never looked back, never once noticed the looks of the other students. Who were they but blobs of vague notions? Casting backward would only bring forth memories of blurry shapes, half-nostalgic notions of scents. But for her -- the girl with the bells, the fire that fed the frenzy.

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i'm losing hope and fading dreams
This Code was made by JOEY! You steal it, you will be hunted down and eaten with a spork!The lyrics go to Mayday Parade, 'I'd hate to be you' [/center]