Kiyoshino, "Waka" Makoto

[Guest]

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CASE FILE: Alchemist/Alkahestrist/Yakuza

...Hanya?
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FULL NAME:
→ Makoto "Waka" Kiyoshino

AGE:
→ 26

SEX:
→ Male

BIRTH PLACE:
→ Hyogo, Kamahen

RACE:
→ Aerugese

DATE OF BIRTH:
→ November 7, 1985

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HEIGHT:
→ 6'6"

WEIGHT:
→ 169 lbs.

PICTURE:

Here are some pictures for reference. In my head, he actually looks a bit different than this.

→

Spoiler:

→ What his retard smile looks like:

Spoiler:

→ The face he makes when he is thinking too hard:

Spoiler:

→ Tattoo:

Spoiler:

DESCRIPTION:
→ Tattoos--if that isn't enough to remember him by, then it's usually the direct and weighty stare he carries with him. Which then could also turn into a pouty eyebrow raise, capable of reeling in anything that he may want. His eyes eyes are dark, but in the rays of sunlight appear to be a chestnut brown, pretty much like mud. (Don't say that around his buddies though...you might end up dead). His hair is naturally the same color as his eyes, being a dark, unruly brown. He slicks the shoulder-length strands out of his eyes and into a half pony-tail for work, including what one could call bangs. Otherwise, his hair is parted somewhat down the middle and his lengthy bangs hang into his eyes, giving him a vicious look while also impeding his sight. He gets his hair trimmed twice a year at a high-end cuttery and it doesn't matter how much it costs since he had endless bills to spare anyway.

When Mako gets up in the morning, he looks like a train wreck due to his violent sleeping patterns. His hair is as unmanageable as his personality and highly enjoys sticking out in every direction. It is because of the tight situations Mako has been in that he never really sleeps soundly. That is another reason why he sleeps in a soundproof room without windows; it's the only way he actually sleeps, and even then it's difficult.

He wears black, black, and black because that is a manly, unjudged color that also is easily overlooked. He isn't a leather guy, but more of a suit kinda guy. He dresses all suave and then comes out of a mess with just a tie and ripped dress pants. Hey, that was a 200,000 yen suit! He has a room full of them. When he isn't working, Mako'll just wear washed-out, torn jeans and some random tee-shirt that is usually offensive to someone somewhere. As for shoes, he sticks to boots, dress shoes, or chucks (all black, of course).

Mako has a sexy ride. Disregarding his silver Corvette, he prefers to cruise around on his black Ducati 999 motorcycle...without a helmet (he is that badass). Oh, and he doesn't have the leather jacket either (as mentioned previously); he views all leather as foul and grotesque. His talking voice is low and baritone, very masculine with the typical yakuza yell. It all fits in with the sweet hum of the bike. But when he utters his trademark "hanya?", it's in a higher pitch and extremely misleading. His voice only goes high when he is surprised.

Makoto's alkahestry is unique in that he can change the pigment in his body. If he needs a quick get-away, he can make his hair blond and his eyes blue--anything; that's just a random example. His tattoos were needled into his skin the hard way, but Mako can make them disappear and reappear in seconds, seeing as he memorized how they look exactly. They also never fade for that reason, and he relishes in the fact that he will never go grey. This ability he uses to mess with people, use his rather explosive alchemy, and to make a clean escape when need be. Normally, Mako screams yakuza even while wearing his normal clothes, and will only ever remove his tattoos or change his natural look if that is the last option. That is how prideful Makoto is.

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PERSONALITY:
→ The sound of squeaky shoes on the floor drives Makoto crazy, well, anything had the ability to drive him crazy. Born and raised as a yazuka, he only know how to slam his fist down and demand his way, and get it. People cross the street just to avoid walking near him and his loyal group of tattooed vassals. The word 'swagger' is the embodiment of how they walk--swaying from side to side, eyes forward, hands in pockets, hunched over, the sound of chains, smoking, mean looks, long hair... Yeah, that's the kind of world Mako knows. Despite people's judgement of who yakuza are, they are not just the scum of society, but just that: people--people who were down and out, social delinquents, pieced fools with no outlet for their talent with a punch. It was these people that were taken under the protective wing of men who carry art on their skin: moving pictures. It were these people that raised Makoto. The yakuza keep the old fighting spirit alive in the industrializing world while helping to build shadows of skyscrapers to block out the sceneries in old poetry by Zen masters who gazed at the moon and saw nothing. However, now there really was nothing except reflected light and mirrors with people watching, always watching, expecting anyone to lose it and whip out a knife to go bat-shit-crazy with. No, that was for fun--the yelling, that is. The frequent "EH!?" out of Mako's mouth came from the need to fear one's superiors and silence them to loyalty. Who would follow a leader that couldn't kick your ass and then protect your sorry, unworthy head? Yeah, exactly. But like every normal person, yakuza have feelings too--modern samurai with steel glares, but able to outwardly cry and express emotion not meant to be lodged in already sodden souls. Every yakuza has a foot in the door, a way to make money and keep business rollin'. They dabble in construction, money loaning, and even the government, but they are not assassins. Occasionally, bodies will be found in Edo bay with their name on them (not literally), but the yakuza's art is the art of fear, and to keep that up, sometimes someone's gotta die.

Makoto Kiyoshino was raised as a fighter. Having no siblings, he was automatically the heir to the largest yakuza and mafia organization in not just Aerugo, but the world. Everyone knows his name on the streets, rumors floating of his violence. Mako isn't a genius, and it takes real effort for him to strike deals his father sends him on. Usually, they end up with a bunch of Xingese scoundrels on the floor in piles, collectively moaning, and Mako's fists a bit bruised. He can't remember numbers or do much basic math, knowing only his age, birthday, and year of birth. Besides that, don't even ask. Mako is followed around by an enteragé of squad leaders (vassals) that patrol their turf and keep an eye on "Waka" (referring to Makoto as the second in command whose authority only falls under his father). They are quick to act, translate, protect, and sneer at anyone or anything that dares challenge or get in the way of Makoto. However, strangely, Mako will usually have none of it, defending his friends (who may have been yelled at for using informal language with him) or protecting himself. Mako is the kind of person who would never let his friends get hurt because of him.

He gets angry easily, he flips tables, he slams his fist on things with rolled back eyes and feral head-rolls; he is a yakuza through and through. Despite being pretty stupid when it comes to the world of academia, Mako is a genius fighter and knows where to find profit. He is loyal to the bitter end and never knows when to back down no matter how many times he fails or is ridiculed. Makoto is bad at smiling, in fact, he can, but tends to look scary at first until the happy-gear gets warmed up again after much time of disuse. He loves fighting, training, sweating, but during which, Mako is way too serious to crack a smile until possibly after it's all finished. In all his life, Makoto, if asked, would not have much to say about joyful experiences. He had never fallen in love and is closer to his underlings than to his father. Sometimes, he can't even be understood by them if he prattles off in Kansaiben. It's a complicated world and Mako is the kind of guy with a rough life that just lives it. His hobbies: pachinko, kicking ass, drinking, women, and eating pudding.

LOVE:
→ Black, Discovering/learning new things, Figuring out things, Solving problems successfully, Sleeping, Ice in hot drinks, Soup, Fishing, Architecture, Construction, Shadows, Crime and invasion in his turf because it gives him something to do, Daydreaming, Playing with flies, Fire, Obscure/allusive things, Pinstriped Suits, Suits in general, Looking badass, Being a smartass, Outsmarting people, Winning, Being praised, Organization, Tattoos, His Yakuza group, Money, Cars, Motorcycles, Women, Girls, Cigarettes, Casinos, Gambling, Pachinko, Fighting, Brawling, Kicking people's asses, Violence, Having to get information out of other people via force, Kicking down doors, Yelling, Raising his voice, Cursing, Being angry, Smashing the table with his fist/Lifting his foot onto the table in anger, Flipping tables, Training, Martial Arts, Rice, Pudding,

HATE:
→ Academia, Pollution, Foul odors, Cleaning, Cooking, Drugs, Over organization, Cellphones, Phones in general, Answering phones, Interacting with people he doesn't know, Texting, Being chased by wild and crazy people waving around guns, Cheating alchemist bastards, Cheating in general, Heat, Any sort of non-Yakuza-related work (however what he defines as work varies), Knives, Lighting his own cigarettes, Holding an umbrella, Being bored, Being romantic, Anything mushy or 'cute', Anything pertaining to embarrassment, Gaudy things, Things that draw too much attention, Flowers, Paradise, Jail, Being locked up, Being held back, Being ordered around, Crowded places, Being touched, Being thanked too much, People apologizing too much, Failing, When people he cares about get hurt because of him, Being mocked, Not having a hair tie, Not having time to get ready for patrol, Forgetting things, Counting, Counting things like sheep, Hearing things while trying to sleep, squeaky shoes on the floor,

DEEPEST SECRET:
→ None.

IDOL:
→ His Father.

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HISTORY:
→ The frying pan was coated in what looked like yesterday’s dinner. Makoto stared at it for a moment, turning the tin thing around in his thick hands before dropping it back onto the stove with a loud bang. Why the fuck did he have to cook his own breakfast anyway—more so, why the fuck was he even hungry? Eating breakfast was nearly a sin in his book, and he threw that shit away when he dropped outta school. Cooking… right… Turning on his heel, he nearly slipped across the polished floor to the low hum of a metal beast that breathed cold air instead of fire. Peering in sheepishly, his fingertips guided his eyes to the cardboard home of not a dozen eggs, but just under. Someone else had eaten his eggs. EH!? WHAT WAS THIS?! He clutched the container tightly in his hands, squeezing it like the metal grip of an eagle’s talons. The thick carton groaned, the shells rattling into the roof as it pressed down against them. Nearly breaking, Mako loosened his grip and sighed. There was no use in breaking all of them. What about tomorrow’s breakfast? What then, HUH?! He cracked two—no three. It was hard; he nearly cut himself and missed the bowl on the second. Dripping embryo goo glopped from the brown shell, gliding down the slope of the bowl to join the rest of the sick-looking…stuff. It reminded him of childbirth—premature…unnatural. He felt like a murderer when he cracked open eggs, even though they weren’t even alive yet. Not like they were going to be…who knew what sick creation would peck open the shell of its confinement after being birthed by a three-legged mother and eight-winged father? Makoto didn’t even want to think about it, so instead, he busied himself with mutilating the yoke with a fork since he couldn’t find the whisk. That thing had to be in one of the labyrinths of drawers of which he was not currently fond of digging through whilst his stomach ate itself. Mixing it was easy—no it was almost…enjoyable. He stared down at the yellowish liquid and suddenly noticed that, no, it was no completely mixed. It was foamy and fluffy, but there was still clear among the yellow, separating itself like oil and water. What… why? He felt betrayed, his heart sunk…he was a failure at something so simple as mixing eggs. NO. NO, he mustn’t give up! Mako raised a fist and nodded at his reflection in the microwave. He would do this. He was a man! Clenching his teeth together, his arm went into turbo-speed. Panting with sweat lacing his forehead, the mixing of the eggs was completed. He put the bowl down, dove to the refrigerator and withdrew something that appeared to be butter, but…wasn’t. Fake butter. Fake butter was on the shelves now, not even bothering to hide the fact that it was so utterly fake. No kick to it, no walkin’-on-the-danger-side sense to it. No, you couldn’t clog your arteries with fake butter. Sneering to himself, he took a knifeful of the hunk of organic shit and slapped it in the pan. Next, he smothered the surface in cooking spray, reveling in the future fact that it would then take no effort to clean it and/or scrape every last bit of egg off to devour. He nearly drooled, waiting for the butter to melt—crackle—not burn. And it did…quickly…too quickly. He wasn’t ready! Diving across the counter, he retrieved the bowl and launched the fluffy embryo slime into the pan. The sound made his stomach flop. It was almost like a scream—the way it sizzled. So many lives spent…on his breakfast. They would bob across the yard, clucking, cock-a-doodle-doing, waiting for pellets or entertainment aside from dodging cars or running children. What the hell kind of— AH! Makoto grabbed a wooden spoon and plunged it in the bottom of the pan, scraping at the eggs that would have become what he had just been imagining. However, it would probably be very difficult to do just that with three legs and shit… With the fire on high, nearly burning his eyes, the breakfast cooked fast, sprinkled garishly with salt and random other spices that happened to be in the same cabinet. He’d see how they tasted—didn’t really matter when he was just going to swallow the plate whole anyways. It was done—or deemed done—and Mako had it down his throat before he had a chance to get a plate out. The pan was in the sink to be washed la—fine. FINE. He’d do it now. Later tended not to come…like unfertilized eggs.

Speaking of fertilized eggs, Makoto was born to a pair of parents. Well, more accurately just his father; his mother died during childbirth and he never got a chance to meet her. It was a shame, but he tried not to think about it. It was 1985, THE time to be alive in Kamahen. His father was emperor and their family, being royal and all that, was more than well off. Mako never met his grandfather, Hideo, but he definitely heard stories of which he bragged about to all the kids. He didn’t really fit in with that crowd though. Before he was anywhere near school, he began training with martial arts in the high mountains. He was an ace, beating up his class and standing at the top of the human pile he made triumphantly. He was soon kicked out of the classes and sent back home to the imperial palace where he lived alone—what he considered alone. His father was always busy and there were no other kids to keep him company and no siblings to bother: the epitome of ultimate boredom. To remedy that, he began to practice what he learned on his own, sometimes beating up the butler-man until he cried mercy! It became his favorite pastime since nothing else held his attention efficiently enough.

When Makoto was five years old, he failed preschool. His father was miffed, instantly confronting him about it once he heard, but there was only so much an adult could gather from a wild child. Hideto blamed himself for not paying enough attention to his son and decided to do so from then on. However, 1991 rolled around and he had to make a sacrifice for their small family to save the country and the people from the ten years of suffering. Mako, oblivious thought they were going on an adventure—an adventure that would be the rest of his life. Together, they were exiled from Kamahen by the Esparians in order to ensure their complete rule of the large island. At first, the idea of exile was horrifying to Hideto, but when Aerugo agreed to have them, he was relieved. Thus, they moved to Kyoto, Aerugo where he formulated the only means of income he knew: brutality. The Yamaguchi-gumi yakuza was borne from that, and Makoto was forced to attend elementary school.

It was an intense struggle through the grades. Kids went home with bloody noses and Mako became close buddies with the principle’s glare. That was when he learned how to glare back. He was fast the talk of the school. People walked on the other side of the hallway when he was anywhere in sight. Despite all the fear hovering about him, he was never the one to badmouth anyone. In short, he never started any of those fights, only won them, making himself out to be the bad guy. Always on top, he suffered the scorn of the entire student body and never made any friends—not a soul. He was made fun of in class and called an idiot even by teachers. No one understood him. By the time he graduated with flying melancholy and middle school rolled around, he couldn’t take it anymore. And incident occurred quite unlike the others. He was called on in math class to answer a complex equation that looked more like gibberish to him and froze up completely. Normally, he’d flat out say that he had no clue, but he found himself staring at the book. Think think think!! Nothing came, nothing came, nothing—and then:

“What an idiot!”

“Yeah I know. You’d think he’d actually study.”

“How can someone be so stupid that’s the easiest question!”

…What was that? That feeling. It—it was unbearable!! The teacher made no move to stop them, merely stared at Makoto with no expectations written on her unmistakably malice face. He stood up and left the room without a word. Silence filled his wake for just moments before a crash was heard. That was when they ran out in hoards to see. …What they saw was his locker thrown through the glass windows of the lunchroom. After that day, he never went back to school, never studied, and stopped thinking so hard about things.

Mako accepts things as how they are simply. His father had no qualms about his son dropping out of school and expressly ignored the claims of him being a social delinquent. Instead, he emitted him straight into the yakuza at the age of twelve. He introduced his son to the men and women who grew quickly to accept Mako for who he was (or die). His popularity grew with time and the power of his punch, for he never lost a fight. He grew comfortable for the first time around people, learning to trust them as they learned to never question him. ‘Idiot’ and ‘Stupid’ were words exempted from the yakuza’s vocabulary save when Mako said them himself. Those that were misinformed or had forgotten the unspoken rule were somewhere at the bottom of Edo bay never to be found. And if found, never to be recognized.

Eventually, a headquarters was built up as a homely front tucked away in Edo. The basement was an underground labyrinth of hang outs, dart boards, billiards, lockers, garages, weapons, etc. Fitted with the best of the best, the place itself was gorgeous, overgrown with vines and archways, large windows, and enough bedrooms to be considered a hotel. On the outside, it was seen simply as Hideto’s winter home. The yakuza grew and grew with time, surprising Hideto with how much power they were gaining in Aerugo. They all knew who he was and that him and his son too were of direct-line royal blood, but that certainly couldn’t be what warranted the popularity of joining a crime syndicate. It had something to do with the rescuing of down-and-out people who didn’t fit with the norm. Juvenile delinquents were harvested at every school at least as his son had been, and collecting them into their ranks was more than a simple task.

When Makoto turned twenty-one, a silent decision was made and told to him. Kamahen was to be given up on. They would never return to the country of many mountains and martial arts. Practicing every day in layers of sweat, the thought of being forbidden of such a thing came as a shock. They could never go back? Ever…? It pissed him off—beyond belief it irked him. Being not especially close to his father, he found it difficult to talk to him about anything unrelated to work or the yakuza in general. Up until Mako now, he never mentioned the unabated anger lurking in the underlayings of table-flipping. Perhaps one day he would seek a means of acquiring a way to accomplish his father’s lost dream…

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TRIVIA:
→ He cannot think about anything for more than 90 seconds.
→ He tends to starve himself before getting a meal.
→ He is highly paranoid.
→ He has a lot of pretend-anger resulting in "EH?!!" otherwise he is typically calm and collected unless something out of the ordinary happens and disrupts his rocky inner peace.
→ He is a hothead. ^
→ He tends to scare people without even trying to or realizing it.
→ He also scares/intimidates people into getting anything he wants.
→ He was a social delinquent and hasn't graduated Middle School.
→ He has been part of the Yamaguchi-gumi since he was born. His father is the boss and he is the Wakagashira, second in command.
→ He has a lot of 'why me?!' moments.
→ He is homophobic.
→ He eats rice everyday with anything.
→ He rarely smiles.
→ He is an insomniac.
→ He is a Scorpio.
→ He smokes around two and a half packs of cigarettes a day.
→ He brushes his teeth with pudding-flavored tooth paste.
→ Anything pertaining to numbers besides his birthday, age, and anything to do with work are not retained.
→ Makoto means 'true' in Japanese.
→ His friends (if he has any in the future) call him 'Mako' or 'Maki' whereas his vassals call him 'Waka'.
→ He is distantly related to Reila Tsukino.
→ Fluent in Aerugese (Kansaiben Dialect) and learning Drachman.

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ALIAS:
→ Aki

OTHER CHARACTERS:
→ Reila, Spade, Aurelius, Fran, Elastor, Toss, Uru, Rem

CREATOR'S COMMENTS:
→ I couldn't refuse him. I actually made this character back in 2008. Also, anyone is welcome to make his father or the main branch leaders that follow him around.

FACE CLAIM:
→ None

CUSTOM RANK:
→ HANYA?
→ THE HINT OF ROUGE IN THOSE $ BILLS

OFFICIAL TITLE:
→ Plasma
→ Hell Fire

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Fluent in | Aerugese (Kansaiben Dialect) | perverted things in Drachman |

(╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ WHO DO YOU THINK I AM EHHHH!?!!?

┻━┻ ︵ヽ(`Д´)ﾉ︵ ┻━┻

...Hanya? DON'T THINK I DO THIS FOR A LIVING!? (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻