Lid'l
Joined: 06 May 2010
Posts: 663
Location: Taking to the sky, like a Wild Butterfly~
Sun May 30, 2010 8:34 pm |
 Post subject: Fugue Bhangra |
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Name: Fugue Bhangra
Age: 53
Age Appearance: Mid-twenties.
Gender: Male.
Species/Race: Muzen, demon.
Appearance: Lithe and frail like most Muzen, Fugue looks perhaps a little sickingly thin. His skin is a pale shade that blushes and bruises easily, his lips always purplish like he is very cold. He is rather tall for a Muzen and even though he has grown into a male gender, he still possesses a few androgenous characterstics that could confuse people. His voice however, is definately male, as are his reproductive organs. With wavy, strawberry blonde hair and lavender eyes Fugue may seem rather meek, but he's quite capable of standing his ground. He usually dresses in shades of blue and purple, light clothing that is easy to clean and is comfortable for travelling.
Personality: Fugue carries himself with a look of tranquility: he is a patient, kind man whose cheerful attitude manages to put people at ease with him. Very approachable and sociable, he is well liked except by those who consider him a spineless pansy.
History: Born just before the War ended, Fugue's mother died in childbirth. Because of the chaos of the War, they lacked the medical knowledge and attention to get his mother through her problematic labour. He grew up around Draqui as an only child with only his father for a parent untill he was 21. They started travelling the world at that time, joining troupes and bands of travelling performers and only staying at cities and towns to make some money and stack up on supplies, never staying anywhere longer than a week. This kind of hard life caused Fugue to crave for something more steady, something he found when he fell head over heels in love with the girl of his dreams at the age of 30. They married soon after, both very young (Fugue was 33 - about 16 in human years and she, a human girl named Zoufi, was 19). He received his father's blessing to settle down and start a family of their own. His father agreed on staying with them until they had completely settled and started to frequent and organise parties like only the Muzen can do. It only took a year of heavy drinking for Fugue's father to die from a heart attack.
Not long after Fugue's wife got pregnant with his child and they prepared to move back to Draqui, Fugue's birthplace. But their happines was shortlived as they encountered the after effects of the War on the land: Draqui was still full of magical creatures holding a grudge against 'those arrogant' humans. They were able to live in peace for two months before disaster struck and Zoufi fell ill. A curse or an unknown sickness, Fugue still doesn't know. Zoufi wasted away and died before she could give birth to their child. Fugue mourned their death for over five years, painting his eyes red but never crying. Even now, he still paints his eyes even though one would not say he is a sad man. He started travelling the world again, seeking the company of others and picked up all kinds of odd jobs on the way. He has no real goal or purpose in life - he just likes putting a smile on everyone's face and lose himself in parties, as the Muzen are prone to do.
Occupation/Job: Teacher of sorts, with a side occupation of wandering merchant when he's not settling down to teach.
Interesting Facts/Quirks: Fugue can't stand to be alone. It makes him feel very unhappy. That's why he is always looking for travelig companions and friends to surround himself with. Being alone makes him fearful. Also, despite being Muzen, Fugue cannot play any instruments. He does love to sing and dance and is very light on his feet.
Hobby/Hobbies: Fugue likes to read and learn new things. He's an avid collector of things butterfly-shaped and has learned his trade of being a merchant through his passion for butterflies. He also enjoys the company of children and loves to play tag or ball with them.
Likes: Mushrooms, onions and strawberries; people playing citars or shamisen; frozen yoghurt with red fruits; butterfly-shaped items; ghost stories.
Dislikes: To be alone; cold weather; bees and wasps (he's allergic to them); losing or misplacing his belongings (especially his red paint); rude people.
Strength: Fugue has a lot of patience in dealing with people and situations. He is able to keep the peace and calm people down when they are frustrated and lends a listening ear to anyone who needs it.
Weakness/Flaw: His almost desperate need to be with other people; maybe too kindhearted for his own good; doesn't always speak his mind; turns a blind eye to his own weaknesses (doesn't consider them to be flaws).
Anything else to add: No matter how irked he can get, Fugue will never swear. Besides that, he has no head for heigths - he's afraid of them.
Quote: “If you can't get rid of the skeleton in your closet, you'd best teach it to dance.”
Roleplay Sample: They had been travelling at a slow pace today, allowing the mounts some rest and the troupe some time off from the ever ongoing journey. The clack of slowly trotting horse shoes was drowned out by the sound of roadsongs and laughter. They were a motly crew: swords-for-hire with ever changing haircolours, magical creatures working all kinds of tricks and a few humans that bound them together by taking good care of whatever soul wanted to join them. Their travelling group truly was a sight to behold.
Fugue didn't stand out because of his looks. He was beautiful enough, quirky with the red paint on his eyelids and the blue bandana keeping his hair from his face, carrying a wooden cabinet as a backpack of sorts. But it was the group of children flocking him that set Fugue apart from the other troupe members. He gently laughed as he herded them out in front of him, having spent the entire afternoon telling them stories and teaching them the stuff he had learned from history books. "Lizzy," he called, gesturing the little girl should get a move on, as he closed the book he had been carrying with a dull clap, "Don't tease the mule. You wouldn't want anyone pulling on your ears, either."
The girl let out a whine, but did as she was told, darting around one of the big cartwheels to trot up to him and grin. She was missing a few teeth, making her look as mischievous as she had proved to be. She turned and walked backwards, nudging one of her friends to keep an eye out so she wouldn't stumble. "My ears aren't big enough to pull on!" she said, pointing at his, "But yours are!"
Shaking his head, Fugue chuckled. "There will be no pulling on anyone's ears today, Liz."
But then he let out a small yip when someone pinched the tip of his pointed ear between thumb and forefinger. Lizzy's father, a tall and broad man by the name of Furtado let out a burly laugh and clapped him on the shoulder. "Fillin' thar heads wit stuffy stories 'gain, teach?"
Fugue wavered a little at the force of Furtado's clap, but didn't deny his words. With a bit of a wry smile he cradled his ear, touching his own fingers to the tip gently. Though kind-hearted, Furtado was a bit of a brute and Fugue bruised easily. "I was all out of songs for today," he admitted. The Muzen had been travelling with the group for over two months now and had taught the children every single song he knew (and had invented at least three new ones in the proces of teaching them). So when he had run out of songs, he had started on fairy tales and pirate stories. And after he had ran out of those as well, Fugue had to resort to history. But the children seemed to gobble it up like candy, their eyes sparkling excitedly whenever Fugue would choose to speak.
"We's comin' up to the city soon," Furtado told him and the children seemed to understand the adults needed to talk some uninteresting talk, fanning out throughout the troupe. They searched and found their mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters to bother. Only Lizzy remained, pulling on Fugue's sleeve to let him know she wanted to hold hands. The Muzen instinctively slipped his hand around her small one, catching the bright, toothless smile she cast him from the corner of his eye. "We's be stayin' thar fer a week. Will ya be comin' wit us when we leave 'gain? Or?"
Before Fugue could answer, there was a call from the wagon in front of them. "Oy, dad." Lizzy's brother, a gangly teenager with bright red hair and an array of freckles staining his cheeks grinned at his father. "Stop hittin' on the poor guy, aye? Just 'cause he looks like mum."
Furtado turned a little red, something that surprised Fugue. In the two months he had known him and the rest of the troupe, he had never seen the big man blush before. It was rather adorable and Fugue just smiled, deciding to save Furtado any further embarassement. Turning his lavender eyes to the road in front of him, Fugue thought about it. "I haven't decided yet," he answered softly.
"Well, I hope you stay," Lizzy piped up, swinging their joined hands back and front as high as her short arms could reach. She launched herself at Fugue, glomping his frame and making it impossible for him to walk on. "I hope you stay FOREVER!"
Nothing is forever, deary. But Fugue smiled and brushed her fuzzy hair. "We'll see what the morrow will bring," he answered, tapping the little girl on the nose. "For now, let's just enjoy what time we can spend together. And maybe sing another song, ne? Have I ever taught you the song about The Spooky Old Giant That Sleeps In The Cupboards?"
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