Welcome to True Path, an alternate universe My hero Academia RP set BEFORE the actual Series! We are at the beginning of the establishment of Hero society, come join us and help us create the wold of My Hero Academia.
Post by Raida Hongo on Dec 3, 2019 18:48:03 GMT -4
WAKE UP THE HERO!
Raida awoke with a sudden jerk, as he did most mornings. Despite having left the slums behind him many years ago, the rough streets he was raised on had yet to leave him behind. Rolling free of his sheets, he looked over to the digital clock blinking 10:44AM at him, and upon closer inspection he traced his fingers along the cord that fed from it to a tiny disk buried under his pillow. This strange device was one of which he had come to rely upon for most of his life, a vibrating motor that would serve in place of the noise of an alarm. At some point in the night his tossing and turning had tugged the cord free of the clock, resulting in his deep and long sleep far past his normal rising hours. With a muted groan and roll of his eyes he tossed his pillow back upon the bed in frustration, he'd have to squeeze his daily workout in before dinner.
Opting to make the most of his fleeting slept-in morning he shuffled over to the bathroom of his tiny studio apartment, fumbling to click the lights on and wincing at the resulting flash of florescent light. Opting to forgo a shave this day, he washed his face clean of the night's accumulated crud, taking special care to examine the bandage covering his most recently gained injury. Stitches had done all it could to mend the slit in his eyebrow, now it was up to time to fade the faintly throbbing pink scar into the other details of his features.
Flipping through his wardrobe, he debated following his handler's advice and dressing a little better, but collared shirts and ironed clothes just weren't in his ability to care about. Perhaps on a date he'd dress up, but his scheduled encounter for the day left him feeling little need to dress to impress. He knew next to nothing about Vega, other than his Government Contract's playful nickname of "Damn Microwaved Glowstick". There were far more hindering impressions that risked a sour first encounter than just informal attire, like the fact that he was functionally deaf.
His wardrobe debate was stifled by the physical quivering his hungry stomach made, pleading to be filled with something resembling nutrition. Throwing on a tank top and jeans he hopped into the kitchen section of the single room he lived in, fumbling his hand through a box of protein bars he kept on his kitchen counter, only to find it was empty. Frowning he looked to his wallet, even more starved than he was. Most of his initial paycheck for signing on as a hero was spent securing a home for himself outside of the seedy side of Japan. What little he had left was to be rationed out until payday. Maybe his meeting with the hero would result in him buying the rookie dinner, Raida could only hope. Hesitantly counting the dwindling stash of Yen he still had, he decided he was just well enough off to avoid living off instant ramen for another month. The electric chime of the convenience store door went outside the heroes attention as he perused the isles, stifling his stomach's plea for the fragrant hot breads and buns that resided behind the store counter. Part of his duty as a hero was staying in tip top shape, and that meant avoiding letting his poverty sway him to eating cheap junk, bodies like his didn't run on fast food. Settling for a Matcha protein bar and a can of green tea, he waited his turn for the register, his eyes canvasing the headlines of the various magazines, clearly lost in any thought other than the really really tasty smelling yakisoba bun the customer ahead of him was enjoying.
As he approached the register, his eyes snapped to the mouth of the cashier, reading the lips of the woman with some difficulty due to the gum she was chewing. He took a chance and one-handedly signed a simple [How Much?] only to be met with a confused look. The woman leaned forward and seemed to repeat herself, except louder, not that it helped him any. Already reaching to his phone, his text-to-speech app repeated the question. The frustrated woman held up her fingers, walking him through it with a condescending simplicity, much to his own growing frustration. Eventually the transaction was settled and he quickly made his departure. Crouching on the curb outside the store, he focussed his frustration into his meal, devouring the bar with a noisy satisfaction.
Niso had a score to settle of sorts with a place he’d long since dismissed. The Orphanage, St Martas, had done him a disservice in what he might refer to in his past life. A cave of abuse and mis-treatment of kids too young to know anything outside it’s walls, he needed to ensure the people there suffered…the more he remembered in his pursuit to find that pink haired girl from his history, the more he remembered the pain and agony he suffered at the hands of the staff and other children of St marta’s…
He could never hold it against the children. They were raised in the same mess he had been, but the people who still worked their, who let out their frustrations on children because it was easier than just letting it bottle up and having to drink it away in the comfort of their own homes. They needed to suffer. His search for specific names on his list had already begun, but he needed to be sure that he was doing this right. He needed to take down St marta’s staff, and the orphanage itself, so that no child would ever be placed in the hands of such terrible people again. Afterall, such a terrible building would only encourage more heinous staff to follow…
He needed to do this right whatever the case…and as such, he’d been practicing.
Having grabbed an old fire-man’s helmet and a fire proof coat from a surplus store that did business with the local fire departments, Niso blatantly wandered the streets, the murky old helmet covering the view of his eyes, and a bulky, oversized fireman’s coat draped off his shoulders. The sleeves were empty, and his hands working on something within the walls his hefty coat created from the rest of the world. A simple barrier to protect his hands from view, but he wasn’t about to walk the street, danging a Molotov cocktail in his hand.
Sure, it wasn’t a strong start, but it was something. He’d learn how the fire spready, what stopped it, what encouraged it, and he’d learn from there. He’d grow, he’d improve, and he would ensure not a single beam of st Marta’s foundation was left standing in even half of it’s former…no. Glory was too kind a word.
Regardless, he came to a stop, a convenience store on one side, an old, run down building on the other. An apartment building he imagined. He glanced briefly through the front window from where he stood. He didn’t have the best eyes but no one seemed home on the ground floor…good.
A flick of a lighter under his coat, and his arms pushed back through the arm’s of his coat. A sickening layer of black flesh spread from his chin and forehead, covering his entire face, before a chesire like smile in white spread across the flesh-made mask. A burning cocktail now in his hand, he didn’t hesitate, chucking the destructive bomb of flame through the ground floor window of the building before him.
Then he’d stand back…ignore the screams…ignore the frantic dialing of 911 or whatever japan had…he’s just watch through his fleshy mask, watching the flames spread…and examining it all with intense scrutiny.
Quirk - Regen, Combat Style, Endurance - C rank Stamina - C rank Shapeshifting - D rank Mobility - C rank
Post by Raida Hongo on Dec 5, 2019 12:58:11 GMT -4
As Raida squatted devouring the green protein bar, he contemplated the great mysteries of life. That was to say he let his mind go to it's naturally blank state, shutting his eyes and blocking out the worlds distractions for just a moment to reach a deeper understanding of the greater machinations that were underway in the story he had to play in this city of power and mystery. That was... another way of saying he did everything in his power to forget about the warm and smoky smell of those fresh buns, toasted in that heated display back in the convenience store. Their warm and fragrant flavors still called to him, begging to be enjoyed by his rather overactive taste buds. At first, his sense of taste sharpening after quitting smoking had seemed wonderful, he really got to savor all the flavors he had been missing out on. Then over time he learned just how much he missed the muted way his protein shakes and energy bars had tasted, dieting on a budget was a whole lot easier with little to no sense of flavor.
As he crammed the last chunk of the bar into his maw and cracked open the can of pressurized bitter tea, a teen dressed as a fireman passed by him. Such things were odd, but far from fully out of the ordinary in this city. He was rather out of touch with trends and fashion, and where they were wasn't too far from one of those trendy streets all the tourists flocked to, maybe flame-retardant was the new black? The teen payed him as little attention as well, so the thought of his appearance quickly faded from his mind. What didn't fade was the faint smell of gasoline that permitted the air around him. Raida may be deaf as a door-nail, but what senses he did have were far sharper, especially his close vicinity. A sharper individual would have possibly put two and two together, adding that two strange curiosities constituted further inspection, but Raida had been in the hero program for less than a month, only formally recognized as one earlier that week, he wasn't quite fully adjusted to the role. So instead he resumed drinking his tea and facing away from the soon to be burning building.
Resuming his attempt to block out his cravings, he found his temptations began to manifest. The smoky flavor of those pork-buns, the woody scent of the friend chicken, the charred smokey scent of burning building... wait one of those wasn't quite right. This was getting out of hand, his cravings were starting to compromise his sensitive nose, that wouldn't do at all. Standing up with determination, he spun around to embrace his cravings and splurge just a little on something that wasn't processed and calorie-controlled. That was when the deaf hero became aware of the building on fire behind him, his smile of gluttonous acceptance meeting into a surprised frown of confused bafflement. At least there was a firefighter nearby... wait... no it seemed this individual had no intent of lending a hand and was now wearing some sort of fleshy mask. This stunned condition lasted little more than a second as the hero snapped back to his senses and crouched slightly, hunger and cravings fading as the tightly wound quirk muscles in his legs stretching like a rubber band as shifted into his sprinting stance, and launching himself into the burning building.
One by one with the speed of a leopard and the agility of a mountain goat he focussed on getting as many people out of the blaze as he could. With little reluctance or protest he was able get to the few customers and employees that had gotten themselves caught by the blaze. With a huffing pant he threw himself out of the inferno, realizing in that moment the idiot he was, not just for overlooking a shady character, not just for throwing himself unprepared into a situation he had little control over. Coughing and dropping to a knee he was made painfully aware of why it took training and equipment to brave fires like that. He was quick for sure, but he had no defense against the heat or the smoke that had filled the burning store. His clothes had started to smoke slightly as he fought to catch his breath, looking up to see the baffled stares of onlookers as he coughed again. Righting himself he canvassed the growing crowd, searching for the oddly dressed teen who faintly smelled of gasoline. It wasn't had to spot them again, as it seemed they hadn't budged, watching their work unfold. Restraining the urge to belt the individual across the face, he tried to asses the situation. He wasn't some scrappy vigilante any more, he was a hero, and that came with a bit more responsibility. With all the onlookers on their phones, he had to hope one person had called emergency services, sadly he had little way of knowing how close they were, as sirens did little for him. He also had no time to fumble through his own phone and type in a text-to-speech warning to get away from the potentially violent villain. Taking a deep centering breath, he cleared his head and thought back to what he had been taught. Approaching the villain at a cautious pace, he keyed up a preprogrammed command on his phone, and clipped it back onto his belt. The speakers on his phone made a solid and clear announcement in a facsimile of his own voice. "STAND DOWN"