Sidorov, Ururi

[Guest]

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CASE FILE: Alchemist/Xingese Militant

I lie to myself all the time, but I never believe me.
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FULL NAME:
→ Ururi Sidorov

AGE:
→ 31

SEX:
→ Male

BIRTH PLACE:
→ Moscow, Drachma

RACE:
→ Drachman

DATE OF BIRTH:
→ February 29, 1981

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HEIGHT:
→ 6'7"

WEIGHT:
→ 157 lbs.

PICTURE:
→

Spoiler:

DESCRIPTION:
→ A man so bright-minded that certainly even his appearance reflects so. Gifted with golden blond hair, he brandishes a natural perm of curls, fitted around his face in the shape of the sun ☼. His smile is dazzling, basking all who see in a ray of warm light, glistening off the surface of unquestionable green eyes. But they aren't just any shade of green; this green is so airy it resembles the shine on newly turned leaves, waving carelessly in the spring. At the same time, these eyes are not in any way natural, taking on an electric tendency. For they are automail, constructed by one of the world renown experts of the past, now deceased. Because of that, West is able to see, but not just see: zoom in much like a digital camera lens or a small telescope. He uses his eyes not just in everyday life, but also as a scope, making him nearly the best shot in Xing. War tactics are his specialty, planning and plotting men according to their talents to win battles. West knows people. However, he has not had much practice in Xing's relative peace. Installed also into his automail eyes are laser beams able to burn deep holes in objects when activated. The longer it's focused on said object, the deeper it gets, but it can also act as a means of aiming his gun. How he activates them is by blinking twice at a certain pace (that took forever to mater). Then, once activated, the tiny red stream expels in the exact direction in which he looks.

His teeth, newly whitened, are horrifically pristine with invisible cavities filled in by the royal Xingese dentist. With his heart on his sleeve, West expresses himself openly, letting his face contort into the shapes of whatever he feels. While his eyebrows play a large part in that, so does his lips, always grinning. However, West can often be compromised in his job, threatened while tenaciously holding strong to his life in the balance. When that happens, his smile vanishes and is replaced with a serious, almost blank expression. It's easy to say that West doesn't know how not to smile, thus, when he isn't happy, he is either crying, frustrated, or otherwise completely blank. He is an artist of expression, indulging in the simplistic human means of display.

West holds himself tall despite living most of his life on the streets as little more than a hobo. He walks regally, but with a limp given to him in a fight for an old man's life. Before West was capable of using alchemy, he witnessed teenagers beating the living shit--no--the living everything out of a friend of his with metal bats and makeshift weapons. They were bored... Unacceptable. Without thinking, West leaped in to his aid only to replace him in the fray. But because of his heroic defeat, West managed to save his life and pull through his own severe injuries to live another day. Luckily, one of their tarp-neighbors found them, nursing them with any means at their disposal, but over time West's right leg never healed the right way. Now, he has a slight limp accompanied by pain. It does not impede him, but when the pain is bad, it exhibits him from daily life, sometimes bed-ridding him.

While West is used to wearing rags, being the Xingese commander allows him a decent pension in order to afford pretty much any style of dress. Honestly, he doesn't care about what he wears, but oh does he love getting to dress up. He enjoys it because he never had the choice or opportunity to indulge in fancy styles or even a wardrobe of any kind. Therefore, he loves it and relishes in the fact that now he can buy or wear whatever he wants. Because of this, his fashion sense is a little...strange. He mixed and matches things that normal people wouldn't even consider. Some would call it...eccentric. He's like a pop star gone military with a voice and alchemy to back his hand.

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PERSONALITY:
→ Despite his talent for singing West only does so occasionally, when he cannot express himself any other way. But normally, his persona is filled to the brim with expression and feeling. He is the kind of sporadic person that can burst into tear without a moment's notice, and then laugh it off in the next. With that comes his unwithholding empathy. If he sees someone else crying, West will also cry, no questions asked. He cares so deeply about other people regardless of whether they are his enemy or not. He believes in everyone and known that people can change. That is also why West will not kill unless it is essential to saving another life in which is valued more. He is very aware that situations can arise where two guns are pointed and one must die to let the other live. He hates those choices--despises them--and luckily has not yet had to kill anyone. West is the type to certainly hesitate before pulling the trigger, but he will most likely never be forced to shoot-to-kill due to his ability of disabling the foe using the scope installed into his automail eyes.

Weilding an outgoing, often referred to as a bubbly, silly personality, West gets to understand and know many people very well. He becomes a sort of mother hen, adopting random people as well as the men under him to look after caringly; he attains the weight of their problems, sporting it with pride. West worries and frets, and is so unselfish that he sometimes forgets about himself and the things he had to do. With this knowledge of people, he can also easily maneuver them into positions suited for their needs. He is very talkative and goes off on long spiels of rambling and enthusiastic, moving speeches that inspire rather than bore. He has stories galore (like an old man and many inherited by old men), and puts himself into his name instead of simply being what he is expected to be. West can still act mighty when the situation calls for it, but he'd rather just be himself and enjoy life. But because of his hatred for his parents and the fact that his Drachman surname is impossibly hard to pronounce in Xingese, he changed it to 'Sun': a word in Cretan that means: 'the star in the sky that warms the earth.' He loved it and thought it fit him (despite not meaning that in Xingese), therefore officially changing it once naturalized as a Xingese citizen. Because of his own name-changing he then highly respects the names of other, always using their full names to address them.

West has an imagination, wallowing in hyperboles and any or all sorts of exaggerations. He is a very honest and straightforward person, but he fibs when it conveniences him and pretends-away a lot of unsolvable problems that arise in order to accept them. It is his way of manipulation and coping--flailing with a sloppy grin like a child who laughs at danger. HA-HA-HA. Yes, that is the reason for West's favorite animal being a lion because of The Lion King and Simba's beautiful innocence now lost from this world. West carries that with him everywhere in his life and applies it to everything. He is even as klutzy as the little lion cub and as naive, optimistic to the very core.

LOVE:
→ Lu, Iosif, Jet Black, Ace, Xing, Animals, Flowers, Nature, The Sun, Stars, Constellations, Skipping, Flailing, Having fun, Singing, Music, Violin, Writing music, Hyperboles, Exaggerating, Telling fibs to get out of tough situations, Talking for hours about nothing, Elaborating, Explaining things, Motivating people, Speeches, Being emotional, Old people, Bums, The homeless, Kids, Eating, Caffeine, Coffee, Tea, Anything with caffeine in it, Trains, Walking, Cardboard boxes, Heaters, Fire, Air conditioning, Making snow angels, Pennies, Playing with rocks, Not spending money, Reading, Learning, Alchemy, Soccer, Being able to see, Glasses, Eyes, Happiness, Celebrating, Parties, Dressing up, Free things, Being crazy, Being a Gemini, Astronomy, Looking a the stars, Space, The sky, Being free, Pi's,

HATE:
→ When Lu cries, His parents, Slavery, Esparians, Esparia, Drachma, Being hungry, Starving, Deprivation, Greed, Over-consumers, Money, Ships/Boats, The ocean, Sickness, Working, Leaving his comfort zone, When people cry, Losing people, Being insulted, When the strong beat on the weak, Smokers, Being inside too long, When people force him to sing/record his singing, Killing, Murder, Death,

DEEPEST SECRET:
→ That he lost his eyes when he was sold to a slave trader.

IDOL:
→ Jet Black

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HISTORY:
→ Money. West’s parents were obsessive-compulsive with collecting the pretty little pieces of paper and stuffing it under the mattress. Why? Well, the reason was simple. In Drachma, winters were cold for the poor. Without heat and a decent supply of blankets, it wasn’t surprising if a family didn’t make it through. All over the news people were found dead in their homes—it was the norm. That was why they sold their oldest son. West’s father harped about it constantly, trying to get the point across that it was wrong—so wrong. “Never do it,” he said, that serious look in his eyes. West remembered that look…even now. It was a piercing, heart-wrenching stare that was so penetrating that it nearly hurt. He shifted under that gaze, never comfortable around either of them and their misery. At first, he didn’t understand what they meant by selling one of their kids until he realized that he himself was actually one of their kids as well. So…it would be like selling him to a stranger?

West never met his brother…although there were baby pictures from when he was two years old. His name was Iosif and West did all he could to learn what he could about him, but the shock and the onslaughts of fear towards his own parents had already begun to corrupt his young mind. His personality split itself in two, breaking apart his soft heart in order to allow for self-defense mechanisms to take a stronger root if need be. Until he was nine, that had no use, however. West was home-schooled his whole life, hardly going outside or meeting anyone. He hated it and tended to show only his caring nature to animals. He would feed the birds and spend countless hours playing with the family dog, Sasha. As the meager meals grew slimmer and he began to learn what hungry really was, he saw the expressions of his parents begin to change. ‘Sell one, make another’ came to mind when he saw the interchange between them. His mood began to grow dark, his eyes feverously determined not to be abandoned. Where was Iosif now, what was he doing? It was unknown, and the unknown was terribly frightening.

West was eight years old when he was sold to a trafficking business. Of course, it was illegal…and they weren’t trafficking drugs or anything bad like that; no, they were trafficking humans. Heh heh, that’s right. Needless to say that West was terrified, clinging violently to anything, digging his nails into the dirt and wailing until his throat was cuffed by the restraints of human ability. He ran out of voice, ran out of strength in his little body, and gave in to the darkness. When he awoke, there really was only darkness. He felt…pain, he tasted…blood, he heard…ringing, he smelled…trash, but he saw nothing, not anymore. Blind to his surroundings, he felt little hands in his own, guiding him mindlessly into the beyond that he could no longer perceive. A different language was being spoken that he didn’t know—couldn’t even pinpoint. Was he even on the continent anymore? His entire head lolled to the side, hanging off his shoulders like a backpack unfit for a child to bear. Yet here were others younger than him, leading him on, patting him on the back, whispering sweet nothings that he couldn’t even understand in his ears multiple times. He kept going if only for them. If you don’t have eyes, can you cry? All along he knew—he knew that one day he would be sold too. Just like his brother, Iosif, he became a token to support their lives, all the while thinking they could just make another baby. To live…to live like that off the lives of others…h-how? Their own children. It hurt. It hurt so much to think—to take another step. West became sympathy. His role was that of suffering and begging. He learned how to grovel—how to make his empty sockets bleed for petty cash. He ate gruel and enjoyed it—wasn’t even able to see that it was puke-colored—couldn’t even understand that others were complaining about it; West was just living. He was living.

A year passed like this, his pockets empty, his clothes so ragged that sometimes he tripped over himself. He couldn’t be alone without a guide, and even after so much time… he never got used to the darkness. Nightmares, they never ceased. They happened during the day. He felt the heat of the sun, but he never saw it… light no longer existed. Was this…was this really what no color—no sight looked like? There weren’t even specks of anything. He tried seeing, but there just wasn’t anything—a spot in his brain activated and open, but recording nothing. It was frustrating and drove him mad. He was occasionally violent, cold, vicious even, but it was only seldom when his guide or a voice he recognized was being dragged into a fight. He made no friends and learned none of the unknown language they were speaking. If he couldn’t see what they were talking about, it was kind of impossible to figure out the vocabulary. Sometimes, he wondered why he was alive at all.

A day came when they were all lined up, chained together, and loaded onto something wooden that seemed huge. Once he was aboard, West assumed by the floating motions that it was a ship of some sort. For months they were on this vessel, listening to sounds of sickness. His body shrunk to bones, ribs digging into skin until he thought it would pierce through and he would die. But even through so much suffering…he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to! So when suddenly a loud crack and bang resounded heavily through the space, West leapt immediately to his feet, igniting the tiny ounce of energy he had stored. Water began rushing in, people began yelling and screaming and then—Rouenian! He heard a language he didn’t understand, but one he could at least pinpoint. Those flowery words he would always remember as hope in the darkness. Even as he breathed in saltwater and felt his lungs burn—his throat itching for the surface—he clung desperately to unknown words.

When he next awoke, there was sand in his hair, known only due to the ability of seeing. Wait—seeing? He blinked twice and something exploded, alerting someone to the fact that he was awake and already destroying something. Not that that was in his nature or anything, just… it wasn’t like they knew him so they could easily make wrong assumptions and—well, it wasn’t like he knew them either, whoever ‘them’ was. ‘Uh, sorry sir a laser beam sporadically shot out of my…eyes? Yeah, I thought I was blind, but…?’ What an awkward situation. Was all that time just a nightmare? No, not when he could feel those hands in his own—hear the tumbling of a strange tongue as he became yet further submerged into the life of a beggar in the dark. So wait, why had a laser beam shot out of his eyes again? Did he miss something or…?

A man rushed in, picturesque of excited. He tried about four languages before finally spitting out: ”What is your name?” It was kind of choppy, but it was certainly understandable. He paused for a second, but the man didn’t continue onto other languages, seeming to notice the recognition in West’s…eyes? But wait, he was being asked his name—the name his parents gave him? No one else had cared what his name was before now. The pause was maybe too long. He was staring at the hole in the wall across from him, steaming still, and looking so real that it had to be fiction.

“West…” he finally replied. No last name was okay, right? A last name…their last name, he didn’t want to bear it anymore. Cast it off. So that was what he did, grinning sheepishly at the man. Despite wondering so many things, he said nothing, kept quiet like he had been told to for the two years he was in captivity. It was kind of a force of habit, right? So it was okay, he thought. But when the man looked quite bewildered when no onslaught of questions came, West raised his hand into the air, showing his nearly black teeth in glee. “So, why do I have eyes now?”

Not how, not where he was, not what happened or who the guy was, but why expressly he was given…eyes? The man laughed the moment the boy’s hand was raised, seeing as this was not a school setting, but instantly clammed up when he saw the boy’s teeth. Oh god. Oh god. ”I work as an…automail-maker! I hope it’s okay that I decided to recreate your ability to see, although it should be a bit blurry. You see, this is a new invention of mine…automail eyes. That’s why…well…” He motioned to the wall with a laugh. “My name is Louie Dorand. Do you remember what happened because we would all love to know…”

More people wandered in then, blurry misshapen forms that eventually moved into his range of sight. One of which was a little girl. Noticing his curiosity, Louie introduced her as his daughter: Lucrezia as well as the others who seemed to be fishermen who all knew each other. Apparently, a slave trafficking ship was attacked by the Rouenian military upon illegal actions in their waters and failure to respond to communication. West was one of the children on that ship, made clear but not just the tattered cloth he somewhat adorned, but his untamed mop of hair, lack of eyes, starved body, and— He noticed just then the fact that a device was lodged into his arm, leading to a plastic bag of clear liquid. Water, but it looked thicker. Confused, he was eventually filled in on all the details as well as telling them briefly of what kind of life he led thus far. Thus, it was learned that West had never once raised his hand in all his life because he had never been given the opportunity to ask questions.

After the talking was over and West was exhausted, he reviewed it all in his head, concluding that the most important thing that he had learned was the fact that if he blinked twice in a specific way, he would shoot a laser beam out of the automail eyes he now possessed, but still needed glasses for… So, in short, he was a super hero.

West lived on the small island of Rouen for a year, basking in the pleasure of playing with other people. He grew very fond of Lucrezia and her innocent cheer. He tried to play off the debt to her father in any way he could despite being but only eleven years old. He helped construct pieces of automail, fitting together Labrose metals, and forging more. He enjoyed the work, reveling in the new light brought into his life.

That was until another day came, as they always did. It would sound kind of funny to say that he was waiting for it, but in all actuality West really was. The words were whispered carefully, under breath, nearly lost in the reeds beside two rickety paddle boats. Just offshore was a massive ship looming on the horizon, affixed with the Esparian flag. They were Esparians speaking in Drachma as to not be overheard? What were the odds of that? So he listened in, thinking he was being devious like a spy! Then he heard their words… ”The attack is ready, everything is set up. Let’s begin.” Attack? He didn’t believe it at first, but as he watched the men scatter off, he saw the ship in the distance getting closer and closer. Faraway sounds of gunfire rattled over the sound of his breath. People started screaming nearby, heavy footfall drawing nearer and nearer, but he was frozen there in half-horror, half-shock. Was it an hour—a minute? Like the time being blind, he felt as if his perception of time was suddenly stripped from him, as if—as if…there wasn’t enough of it. He didn’t want to die.

He didn’t want to die.

"LUCREZIA!!!!!!!!!!” He was running—running in the direction of their house where he had stayed—a house that had almost become home, but was now on fire. Esparians leaked out like ants swarming strawberries, drooling sugar-coated banners justifying a reason to ruin lives. No, they weren’t just ruining lives; this was a massacre. Louie was already dead, draped across a table where metal fell from his pockets, jingling to the ground in piles of art. She was there, staring, lost at the shadows of forged arms, legs collected around his blood. West stopped too, staring as if in a trace. So…that was what a dead body looked like… He found himself thinking that, not about how gone Louie was, not about the fact that the first person who had ever shown him kindness was now… He grabbed Lu’s hand like the small ones that lead him through blindness, and he charged forward, lost in the fray. He couldn’t figure out what was happening, but he found those tiny boats again that the Esparians had left. Parting the reeds, he made sure Lucrezia got in and then he pushed it off from the shore, his surreal green eyes serious with plead. “Keep quiet,” he said and leapt in the second one. There was no time here anymore. Everyone was dead or dying. They would be spotted. They would be killed too. He kicked his own boat off, launching them both into the water where they fervently paddled until there was no longer any land in sight. That was when he started to panic. Already being near-sighted, he squinted into the distance. It spread but further and further as the days passed and fog cornered consciousness. He came to on one of those days only to find that he was alone. Lu was gone. Gone. Just like that.

Yeah, he ended up drinking salt water and trying to catch fish with the broken off end of the paddle. Yeah, he actually caught a fish once and ate it raw. He fell off the boat a couple times and nearly drowned, but fate wasn’t that nice. Trying not to cry, trying not to scream, West held it all in. The moment he saw land again felt like the happiest moment of his life.

The country ended up being Xing wayyyy across the sea, where finding free food was a bitch. He did manage to find the public library, however, discovering also a book that taught Xingese from Drachman. Learning was something natural to West, thus, the library became his best friend. Often he would remember Lu, see Rouen on the news through the windows of TV shops, but he never saw her again after that day she disappeared on the sea… He was homeless, regressing back to the skin of a beggar. He constructed himself a house living space out of a cardboard refrigerator box right beside the Yangtze River that ran off from the mountains. There, he read and passed the time with something called alchemy, intrigued by the concept of velocity and being able to manipulate things that were already in existence by way of drawing complex circles. Day after day, year after year, he was fluent in Xingese and adverse in alchemy; however, he was stagnant in his place. Stubborn and afraid of change, he stayed where he was, living off of the hard earned money of others, while belittling himself to the point of no return (not that he was ever of the working class to begin with). He kind of…just didn’t know how to do it. So instead, he helped people, earning a pretty penny here and there. Speaking of pennies, he was an expert on finding loose change. Hey, he ate that way and it worked! That was all that mattered right? He didn’t need anything else.

West was homeless for twenty-two years. Well, homeless…technically, but he had his own place of living. Eventually, he had moved into a homeless area where a bright blue tarp became his leaky roof. He was comfortable, satisfied with life, but rumors were spreading about him: the young guy, living among old men, gamblers, and runaways. It was hard to make friends because people disappeared every day or were carried off in body bags, but word spread about him. He was an alchemist, talked about, raved about, traded meals for services until finally the rumors reached the Jade Palace of a talented homeless man. He was famous? In came the marching military men to whisk him unwillingly away from his comfort zone and to the royal gate in rags.

Panicked and in a frenzy, he tried to escape, but the men were under orders and resisted, dragging him if they must. Oh, and they musted. A couple flashes later, five of the highest ranked officers in the Xingese military lay at his feet along with the rocks that defeated them. Yes, rocks. By decreasing the air resistance to zero in a straight line on target, with one flick, they impaled the enemy, rendering immediate unconsciousness if the pressure point was hit spot-on. Needless to say that West’s aim was flawless. What else had he spent most of his life doing? Yet instead of escaping immediately, he froze at the sound of applause. There, before him was Ace Aeries, the emperor of Xing. And…to top it off, a job...?

Teeth whiteners do wonders.

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TRIVIA:
→ He has never killed anyone.
→ He is very serious about people's names and will almost always call them by their full name very politely and regally.
→ He loves making weirdo gestures (like thumbs up, peace signs, etc).
→ He waves his arms like a bird when going down the stairs.
→ He <3's Pi's and they typically decorate everything he owns.
→ He gets lost VERY easily.
→ He is extremely clumsy.
→ He is a crybaby.
→ He is claustrophobic.
→ He exaggerates everything, thus loving hyperboles, telling fibs, and lying.
→ He doesn't coincide with 'the appropriate time for things'--basically, in the middle of a war he could quite possibly whip out of his phone and discuss that night's dinner with Lu whilst fighting.
→ He has a strange case of ADHD.
→ He is very positive/optimistic.
→ He acts like a mother-hen and cares about everyone.
→ He can switch at any given time from being kind-hearted to the fuck-you-up kind of guy.
→ He had a TEMPER when involving Lu or his men.
→ He has a comfort zone that when breached unexpectedly, will result in him freaking out.
→ He has automail eyes yet he wears glasses still since his eyesight is blurry without them. 8D
→ His favorite animal is a Lion.
→ He is a Gemini.
→ He grows a garden. ^o^
→ He laughs at the rain.
→ He only takes what he needs.
→ He is a very honest person.
→ He is addicted to caffeine.
→ He prefers a life of simplicity.
→ He is a cheapskate.
→ He has an awesome immune system due to living on the street most of his life.
→ He is a talented singer and writes music in his spare time, but refuses to record or perform it.
→ He plays the violin.
→ He has a slight limp from an showdown with some thugs beatin' up on an old man, and uses a cane (when he wants to; he doesn't need it).
→ If he sees a penny on the ground, he will jump through hoops to get it.
→ He fights with...stones.
→ He uses two guns with a chain connecting them together as his weapon (coming later when he can afford it).
→ After every shower, he draws his transmutation circle on his chest in pen.
→ Fluent in Xingese, Elementary Drachman, and a sad excuse for Rouenian.

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ALIAS:
→ Aki

OTHER CHARACTERS:
→ Reila, Spade, Aurel, Toss, Elastor, Makoto, Jack

CREATOR'S COMMENTS:
→ FOR XING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

FACE CLAIM:

Code:

[b]UTA NO☆PRINCE-SAMA♪[/b]/[i]Shinomiya Natsuki[/i]

CUSTOM RANK:
→ PRETEND PARADE

OFFICIAL TITLE:
→ Pebble

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[Reila Tsukino]

Done!

[Guest]

I like the little void-idea in his alchemy, the tube of total zero air pressure that crushes anything coming into the path of it.

His history was pretty damn cool as well. Imagining Uru now knocking five soldiers out with a stone XD

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