Name: Hasaharu Seizan
Age: 10
Physical Description:
Height: 140cm
Weight: 34.5kg
Seizan suffers from the physical maladies of any young boy. He's lanky and gawkish. A little too tall for his legs and arms, and he walks like it. His smile is goofy and his nose is a little too big, but his dark eyes are sharp and attentive. He tries for a decent haircut, but always seems to let the wild black hair grow a little too long. Someday after the sun-tanned youth grows into his features and his physique, he might be handsome. But the clumsy fingers and the too-quick laugh are hallmarks of his youth and his inexperience.
He often carries no visible weapons, but wraps his hands in long strips of black linen to keep his knuckles from scraping while he trains. And, of course, while he stumbles and bumps into things with his awkward body. Dark colored shorts and a heavier hooded sweatshirt keep his body from being seen too clearly. Oddly his fingernails are always trimmed and kept neat.
Mental Description: They say that the best people will try anything once. Seizan, in his great lust for attention and accomplishment, will try anything as many times as it takes to master it. Or end up with a visit to the medical center. While not necessarily a goof-off, the young man tries to be the glue that binds. He looks to his team-mates and his class-mates as necessary, and takes muted joy in their accomplishments. He can't abide a bully, but he also lacks in the skill to actually take one to the mat. It's not often that he thinks of girls, as they're grody and sodden with cooties.
There's a certain hope about his mindset. He's young and naive, and he doesn't easily expose himself to the harsher view of some of the shinobi in the village. All young men emulate their heroes, but Seizan seems to take no pleasure in pretending to not care. The training in the Academy will no doubt be the end of his hope to retain his empathy, but in his earliest days? He can still pretend that he won't revel in blood.
History: There's nothing in the world like a younger sister to put the world into a particular sort of mode. Seizan is 9. Miha was 7. Their parents haven't slept in nearly a decade for how loudly they prattle and move through the house, but their presences make the place a home. The young man's memories are bedecked with recollections of dinners during the summer months, when even the nights in Sand bordered on the chilly and the family sat by firelight. His mother, a housekeeper for one of the local merchants. His father, a retired Chuunin who had suffered wounds in battle and lost a leg due to untimely infection. Collectively, they were happy.
Happiness doesn't make for very good stories, and Fate knows it.
It was supposed to be his morning of triumph and glory. Under his father's careful tutelage, he had been accepted into the Shinobi Academy. The morning had come with the calls from their mother, just like every morning before. Her voice, high and clear, echoed in the hall and when the answer came? There was only one. Seizan stood in the hallway and pushed open the door to his sister's room.
Time, and the sting of an errant bee, had been unkind.
---
Numbly, he attended the introduction ceremony. Numbly, he had collected his things and numbly, he stood beside his weeping mother and his stricken father while they held her memorial. He stared shakily at the photo of her that sat framed atop her funerary marker, and he remembered old days. Remembered comfortable time, and gentler voices. She had always made him promise to believe in people.
A day later, amid his quiet rage and his hate for a world that could take her so softly from her shining life? He realized that he would soon be late for class.<i></i>
Age: 10
Physical Description:
Height: 140cm
Weight: 34.5kg
Seizan suffers from the physical maladies of any young boy. He's lanky and gawkish. A little too tall for his legs and arms, and he walks like it. His smile is goofy and his nose is a little too big, but his dark eyes are sharp and attentive. He tries for a decent haircut, but always seems to let the wild black hair grow a little too long. Someday after the sun-tanned youth grows into his features and his physique, he might be handsome. But the clumsy fingers and the too-quick laugh are hallmarks of his youth and his inexperience.
He often carries no visible weapons, but wraps his hands in long strips of black linen to keep his knuckles from scraping while he trains. And, of course, while he stumbles and bumps into things with his awkward body. Dark colored shorts and a heavier hooded sweatshirt keep his body from being seen too clearly. Oddly his fingernails are always trimmed and kept neat.
Mental Description: They say that the best people will try anything once. Seizan, in his great lust for attention and accomplishment, will try anything as many times as it takes to master it. Or end up with a visit to the medical center. While not necessarily a goof-off, the young man tries to be the glue that binds. He looks to his team-mates and his class-mates as necessary, and takes muted joy in their accomplishments. He can't abide a bully, but he also lacks in the skill to actually take one to the mat. It's not often that he thinks of girls, as they're grody and sodden with cooties.
There's a certain hope about his mindset. He's young and naive, and he doesn't easily expose himself to the harsher view of some of the shinobi in the village. All young men emulate their heroes, but Seizan seems to take no pleasure in pretending to not care. The training in the Academy will no doubt be the end of his hope to retain his empathy, but in his earliest days? He can still pretend that he won't revel in blood.
History: There's nothing in the world like a younger sister to put the world into a particular sort of mode. Seizan is 9. Miha was 7. Their parents haven't slept in nearly a decade for how loudly they prattle and move through the house, but their presences make the place a home. The young man's memories are bedecked with recollections of dinners during the summer months, when even the nights in Sand bordered on the chilly and the family sat by firelight. His mother, a housekeeper for one of the local merchants. His father, a retired Chuunin who had suffered wounds in battle and lost a leg due to untimely infection. Collectively, they were happy.
Happiness doesn't make for very good stories, and Fate knows it.
It was supposed to be his morning of triumph and glory. Under his father's careful tutelage, he had been accepted into the Shinobi Academy. The morning had come with the calls from their mother, just like every morning before. Her voice, high and clear, echoed in the hall and when the answer came? There was only one. Seizan stood in the hallway and pushed open the door to his sister's room.
Time, and the sting of an errant bee, had been unkind.
---
Numbly, he attended the introduction ceremony. Numbly, he had collected his things and numbly, he stood beside his weeping mother and his stricken father while they held her memorial. He stared shakily at the photo of her that sat framed atop her funerary marker, and he remembered old days. Remembered comfortable time, and gentler voices. She had always made him promise to believe in people.
A day later, amid his quiet rage and his hate for a world that could take her so softly from her shining life? He realized that he would soon be late for class.<i></i>
