Sachio Poko-pon, from Bad Hands, a roleplay on RPG

Sachio Poko-pon

Cheeky Little Bastard

Dig these tunes, baby:
Anchors upon Anchors: Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons
Large Appetites, Little Bastard: Black, Black Heart by David Usher
Opportunists Lament: Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) covered by Marilyn Manson
You Won't Forget My Name: My Name by Charlie Winston

BASICS

Name: “Only the biggest name is fit for the biggest—... biggest personality, no?” Flapping paws cease gesturing, resting demurely across the back of his shaggy neck. “Sachio Poko-pon; at your services. Hopefully, it doesn't involve snip-snipping.”
Nickname(s): Cheek | Poko
Age: “Cheek be sayin' that growing old is mandatory, growing up has always been optional.” Numbers and years are unimportant in Cheek's world. Essentially, he's between the age of 100 and 200, which is unusual for his breed. If you're perceptive enough, you'd notice the subtle differences in his pedicure. He's not exactly what he seems to be.
Race: Tanuki
Faction: Kyubei-kai
Role: Shatei | Junior boss, ja-ne~

APPEARANCE

Complexion: Primarily, Cheek's ruffled fur differs in chocolate and snowy shades. His facial stripes extend from his upper eyelids, masking his mischievous, slanted peepers and flowing across his cheeks, with another stripping spreading down his forehead and muzzle, accompanied by symmetrical white stripes on either side of the dark patch. His chin, throat and underbelly mimics the distinct shades of dark pelage—contrasting against the creamy-white coat thrown across his shoulders like a winter jacket. Dominating most of his sleek pelt is a very dark shade of brown, dotted with snow leopard-patterned spots along his outer thighs, hips, back, shoulders, and upper arms. Starting below his jawline and then covering down his armpits, inner arms, groin and inner thighs, is a softer coating of pure white fur, in a fine line, deviating sharply against his darker layers. The length of his winding tail is cream-coloured across the top, darker beneath and speckled prominently near it's base; looking strikingly like someone had flecked random spots with a paintbrush. He's a patchwork of agreeable colours. Swarthy, ecologically brown.

Human: Nothing special here, really. He's not the unworldly bronze of an atomic sex God/Goddess, nor the golden hue of a chiseled statue kissed by the sun's harsh UV rays. Certainly not perfect. He's a creamy concoction with pleasing tones of a natural suntan. It's not surprising—seeing as he's always roaming the streets and sleeps where he drops, which is usually across someone's back porch or overhead balcony. He's a lazy sonnuvabitch who always seems to find the time, and a comfortable place, to doze. He must have a horseshoe shoved up his ass, too, because he never burns. Never.

Body Type: If you were expecting swinging balls and fat rolls of adorable fluff, you might wanna' look elsewhere. I mean, Cheek's not absolved of cheek-pinching flubber, but he isn't your usual candidate for waddling instead of walking. His body type resembles more of a malnourished badger than a rolly-polly raccoon-dog; though, he's got similarities to both species. Short and unassuming, Cheek possesses a slender, wolfish snout with a mosque of white whiskers constantly twitching from the end of his muzzle. Two pointed canines protrude from the corners of his mouth, resting over his black lips even when his yappers firmly shut. There's a slight webbing between his fingers, prominently and most noticeably between his thumbs and forefingers. His thick ears are longer than usual, crudely favoured with notches near their tips. His tail is particularly unusual; instead of opting for a stubby club of an appendage, it's serpentine in length, curling unobtrusively around his click-clacking feet. It didn’t seem to fit his Ursine form, as well it shouldn’t have, but though it was still shaped like it was attached to a lizard, a coat of fur still covered it from base to tip, followed by a tuft of chocolate fluff flicking at it's end. Malnutrition has taken its toll on the man's growth and development. He stands not an inch above five feet and sports thin limbs that seem breakable as twigs, skin clinging tightly to bone and slender muscles. For the most part, the loose clothing he wears conceals the true starkness of his poor condition; the disquieting jut of his hips and pronounced line of ribs, rumbling into sickening lumps that seem to quiver whenever he breathes. His face is sharpened into hard lines and abrupt angles by years of deprivation, living off of stolen produce and scraps tossed his way in rare moments of generosity.

Human: “I wanna' see your peacock, cock, cock. Come on, baby, let me see. What you're hiding underneath.” No such conditions reflect in his mortal framework. Sure, he's a little on the skinny side but that's just how they like 'em, anyway. You can still make out the subtle ridges of his ribs when he's shirtless. The slow intakes of breath and the bones heaving together, slender serpents' accompanied by clear, defined musculature. He's the definition of average: only those who have truly ran their hands down his curves or viewed his body without clothes truly know the brokenness of her body; well, many do, considering he poses nude at The Clever Flame's—otherwise known as the beauteous Saiko Komon—extravagant brothel. He has thin, delicate wrists along with large hands and feet. Cheek is soft all around, a clear indication that this form hasn't seen a hard days' work. His elbows curved, lightly horned from having his olecranon's broken and clumsily repaired. He has a pair of knocked knees. He has a somewhat more willowy build than most men. He isn't quite solid, although taller than his subsequent form, and his waist curves inwards in a nearly unnatural way, at least for a male.

Height and Weight:“Right, right. Harp me again about my—,” Sudden flicks of his slender wrists interrupt any snorts of barely contained laughter. He isn't amused, anyway. Regarding his height, Cheek doesn't quite reach five feet on his best days, but he's only a few inches shy so there's no need to waggle your fingers at him and gawk. Gawking isn't polite. He's taller than most Tanuki, whom barely wobble on their tippy-toes to reach four measly feet. They've been known to hop on each other's shoulders so that they can form larger objects, but Cheek's got too much swag and pride to stoop so low. He's a one man pony-show. His fleshy form, without all his shaggy fur, more than makes up for any low self-esteem he's gathered pattering around in his true form.

Human: "Come on, baby. Come on lover. It's your kindness that makes me suffer. Understand, I'm a man, I'm a man, I'm a man." Perhaps his most notable feature is his height: or his lack of it. He's heard all the names; all the side comments. They don't bother him so much anymore and he's gotten rid of the shoes that elevated him just a few more inches. Looking up to people stops becoming bothersome after awhile and would he ever find himself looking down on someone it'd be too strange. Cheek's not the tallest firecracker in your collection of Eiffel Tower snapper's. He's created a human vessel that's suitable for his needs. He doesn't need a gorilla; and he doesn't need a slippery, ten-year-old body. An average man of average form, slightly underweight. An exotic skin 'o bones that'll mesmerize you, or at least teach you a thing or two about the human anatomy.

Distinguishing marks: If by chance you get a glimpse of his left side, you'll notice it's covered in various tattoos. Starting from his left hand and covering most of his arm and a bit of his torso. Don't ask him why he has them. Really, don't. Even if you manage to ask him what the story is behind them, Cheek will lie. He'll tell you the most unbelievable stories—stories so stupid, that it'll just piss you off. So, don't. The markings themselves resemble coiling snakes with hollowed eyes, forming the shape of leathery wings and a bat face. It's all done in black ink. You can still see the ink, albeit faintly, when it's under his shaggy fur. As for distinguishing markings that make him seem a little odd in his human skin: Cheek's squinted, lidded eyes are slightly unusual. But, really, it's the tattooed marking across his face that's unsettling. Who the hell would tattoo a dark brown mask across their eyes... like some kind of raccoon? It's weird. You're sure that he's got some reason for it.

Apparent Temperament: Cheek's got a mixture of temperaments depending on the situation and in what direction he wants the conversation, action, energy to lean towards. He's the goal-driven go-getter whose eyes are only on the goal, not on the people around him. It's in the ways he moves his body, slow and ponderous: unassuming to the untrained eye. He doesn't slouch. He doesn't stride upright. He doesn't appear pensive or organized. The Tanuki sits somewhere in between expressions; between lidded, dulled looks and uncomfortable, flashed smiles. If it makes you feel uncomfortable, then he's doing it right.

Hair and eyes: A strong, angular face contradicts a reality his weary brown eyes are quick to display. They're cautious, lit dully and too dark to read. A brain injury he suffered as a fledgling made them slow to react, so his pupils tend to simply stay dilated, even in the brightest light. Though his hair may seem unruly, it's blatantly obvious that Cheek takes very good care of it. Whenever you're looking away, you might catch Cheek grooming himself with his hands, combing his fingers through his brown tresses as if he were a preening bird. Once you've noticed, he'll drop his hands away or fake a yawn. The hairstyle itself is short; unassuming. It naturally sweeps upwards from his forehead, teeming with white, black and caramel highlights.

Facial features: There's nothing particularly notable about his facial structure. It's an even mass of angles, sloping lines and hollowed cheeks. A slightly crooked nose crosses down the center of his face: the desperado behind shockingly loud sneezes, and welcoming lips but the bearers of passive, uninterested expression. He's not intimidating. He's not strong. He's a pretty face on a gloriously typical, if not miniature, body.

Human: Cheek's wide-bridged nose gives way to a pair of sloping, thick eyebrows that match the colour of his hair. His forehead is prominent and his cheekbones sit high beneath his eyes, elongating a broad and square jaw, slipping into concave, strict angles. His lips are full, but often pale, and sit above a small, almost pointed chin. His features are altogether odd on their own, but compliment each other quite well, most likely due to his mother's fantastic genes. His ability to change small features in subtle manners means that nothing is permanent; though, these abilities rely more on pleasing his customers' than belly their initial trickery. This isn't to say that he hasn't attempted to grow a nice healthy rack—because, damn he's tried. Just to see the sour looks on certain heterosexual faces when they realized they've been with a man, and worse, a Tanuki. This pretty face has made quite a few potent enemies. It's dumb luck that his face isn't a mess of flapping skin.

Wardrobe: Now, let's be honest, when Cheek's in his human disguise, he generally dresses like an asshole unless he's on the streets. If you spot him in the marketplace, he'll always be wearing his trademark cloak with it's heavy hood pulled over his head. Have you ever seen those weird sunglasses that don't have any lenses, just plastic lines over lines over lines? He wears them. They're the ugliest color of green you'll ever lay your eyes on. But, somehow, they fit the lazy angles of his face. Clothes are optional in his opinion, but if he's feeling particularly casual he'll wear a pair of ripped jeans and a brown leather jacket with fluffy trim. Instead of shoes, Cheek enjoys wearing an odd pair of spandex shoes that allow his toes to breathe; the material's cut out, letting each individual toe wriggle free. On select days, he may be found hanging around a laundromat wearing nothing but his boxers.

PERSONALITY

Despite Cheek's resistant attitude, if it comes down to fight or flight, he will flee without hesitation. It's that simple. There isn't a chance in hell he's going to chance having someone rattle his charisma or dislocate any pearly whites from his mouth. He’s hyper aware that he can’t hold his own when it comes to blows, especially wandering around the dark alleyways in Kyoto's busy streets, and his perpetual caution has manifested in the way that he carries herself; leaning forward on the balls of his feet, arms extended slightly at his sides, like a small bird on the cusp of lift off. He's not foolish. He's a squirmy little bastard who isn't going to be caught by the likes of you. He treads softly and quietly, moving with a fluid sort of paranoid grace. Not only is he disposed to escape, he’s good at it—well, good enough to have survived thus far. He has been pushed into many positions that required either quick feet, clever disguises or fast talking and, while he has grown to be a bit persuasive, his brashness typically hinders him when he tries to settle things with a silver tongue that he's yet to possess. For that reason, he prefers tucking his head and slinking by unnoticed— slipping away into the twisting, shadowed alleyways when danger presents itself. If you don't keep your eyes on him, you'll hardly notice anything's wrong until you feel Cheek's blade slip through your inner organs, piercing your heart. You'll curse his cowardice, and he'll only chuckle at your nonsense. Poppycock, whot whot?

Alright, when you're that furry in your true form, you're probably prone to playing up the assets that you've created for yourself, right? This needs very little explanation. Cheek knows he's handsome in his fleshy, misused shell and tends to let everyone else know as well. It's likely to make him more enemies than it does friends because, let's face it, no one really likes a vain bastard. Every single facet of his personality can be described as a contradiction, although most do not have the opportunity to see why. To most people, he appears an overconfident asshole, which is more or less the image he wants to portray. It isn’t inaccurate, either. He's a scuffed, double-sided coin; a fortune cookie with two different fortunes and a shitty tasting pastry that looks pretty appetizing on the outside. Y'know, Cheek's really particular about appearances and whatever everyone else's into. Because, if they don't see a snuffling, twitching raccoon whose secretly fishing his claws into your pockets while your not looking—that's good, that's very good. You'll see whatever he wants you to see, and nothing else. It's a dangerous world when you're not being protected and it's even more dangerous when you're at the bottom of the food chain. He's the colourful guppy wearing an oversized shark suit. He's constantly whimpering, “Don't see me, don't see me, don't see me, please.” You won't. Not if you're not looking hard enough.

Cheek's conflicting personalities keeps him on his toes; it keeps him very much alive. He's feverish in the details: always noticing when someone's left the building, when someone's entered, whether or not they skulked to the corner table to avoid notice. Hardly anything escapes his watchful eyes. With any flash of a weapon, you won't find Cheek in it's vicinity. He vanishes as quickly as a whore when it's been cheated of money. He's extremely perceptive, especially when it comes to other people and situations about to turn awry. It isn’t difficult for him to grasp new ideas and concepts, either. So, Cheek's a lot of casually thrown adjectives and pointed, accurate curse words. You won't offend him by calling him out on his cowardly habits, and you certainly won't cause an affront by swearing at him; he's heard it all, several times. You don't think you've been the first one, eh? They say that most people view the world in two different stages throughout their lives. Glass half empty, and glass half full, perspectives changing as often as their circumstances. Cheek's chipped glass has a heaping helping of vodka in it, and there's nothing you can do about it.

He doesn't have a backbone. His spine is jelly. He's got the mind of a quivering rabbit skittering around snare traps and snake-pits. He's slippery in an argument, able to wiggle himself out of a rock and a hard place with little to no trouble and can avoid such confrontations with sly skill others may envy him. Cheek's useless with most weapons, doesn't particularly like burly creatures getting up in his grill and will unhesitatingly lie, manipulate, and trick his merry way into safety. There's nothing he won't do—well, almost nothing. He'll probably never be seen without that thin shine of Casual glossed over him and he seems to take the motto, “Never let'em see you sweat” a tad too serious; but, he's uncomfortable when he's in a situation he feels that he doesn't have a steady hand in. Control is a serious issue for him. Without it, he feels skittish, exposed, open and just in a general weak position which will not be tolerated.

There's still redeeming features to his craven personality, I'll give ya' that. Cheek's an eccentric individual that thrives on surprise, shock and the clandestine unusual. It's one of the prime examples why he's got so many frequent clients. Every time they step through the door, it's as if they're visiting a new person. He's got a dark sense of humour that's occasional mistaken for an endearing flavour off sarcasm; but let me assure you, Cheek's probably serious about everything he's saying. He's not the type of guy who'll openly tell you the truth, though every single misleading phrase has it's fair share of it. His possessiveness and jealousy is the product of his inability to become the confident self he envisions; it doesn't quite belly his willingness to hide his head in the sand when things aren't going quite as planned.

He may come off as a bit awkward to the first person to meet him. They might not even to be sure what to think. He might look like he's clumsy, or even be accused of being a bit disproportionate. He may have that type of personality that doesn't really add up, but none of that really matters. You'll see what you want to see, and he'll waggle his fingers in front of you until all you see is the glamour. You won't see him, not really.

Speech: His voice is lukewarm and comforting, offering even the stingiest of strangers immediate warmth or annoyance. His words pour out like an unstoppered bottle of wine; aged and wise with the barest hints of amusement. As if there wasn't anything else more amusing than the questions you pose, bordering on muted, unspoken narcissism. Cheek doesn't drawl, chitter, or muss up his sentences with annoying whistles sifting through any gapped teeth. Like a screen of a fluttering heart monitor, his speech is a lusty reflection of his human disguise. An eccentric trumpet disrupting your personal orchestra; it's eccentric, but unforgettable. Essentially, Cheek's voice can appear coltish, but at the drop of a hat, it'll drop into a cat's velvety purr. He's mocking you but you don't have the proof. It's in the subtle lilt of each syllable.

Pet Peeves: Cheek doesn't like anyone whose prone to staring. It's friggin' rude. He doesn't like loud, mouth breathers; over opinionated people; when people smell sweaty in public or a lack of personal hygiene in general; sick people who hack and cough in your vicinity; double negatives; the sound someone makes when they're clearing their throats, almost like they're trying to hack up both tonsils; forced laughter; when you're beautiful on the outside and ugly on the inside; ignorance; being misunderstood when he's being clear enough; people who look down on others; and blatant racism. Though, if Cheek notices any of his pet peeves being performed he probably won't say anything. Especially if you're a lot bigger than him.

Favourite colour: Maroon

EQUIPMENT
Fighting Style: None—well, nothing worth noting. He's a lover, not a fighter.
Preferred Weaponry: Hidden blades tucked into his boots, tipped with deadly poisons.
Specialty: Like it's Kitsune brethren, Tanuki aren't specifically known for being brutal killers. They rely more on trickery and cleverness to get them out of dangerous situations. Cheek is no exception to the matter, though he's known for his unusual resources and shoddy affiliates. He is skilled in commerce and a master of intrigue, with his brilliance matched only by his ambition. He provides information to all sides, aiding enemies, pitting rivals against one another, and in the end, gaining whichever allies and enemies that suits his own purposes. His fingers are in your pies, and when you notice that somethings been tampered with, Cheek will have someone a multitude of scapegoats. He can easily change his appearance, walk, smell and clothes to become unrecognizable

He's inventive and perfectly willing to try new things just to try them. He thinks “outside of the box” in these instances, often taking conventional objects and manipulating them to serve different purposes than what they're intended. If necessary, he'll even take the object apart and put it back together as something different.

Weaknesses:

He has a low tolerance level for fear, and becomes frightened easily. It's in these situations he become unpredictable. Years of persecution has caused him to prefer a flight to ~~fight~~ flight method in most cases; in others, he might respond aggressively. Well, just for a few seconds of adrenal bravery, and then he'll turn tail and disappear in the grungy alleyways. Hopefully, you won't catch up with him. Oh, and when met with unfamiliar places, Cheek will make himself scarce until he knows he's truly safe.
He's a coward. He's never acted out of bravery, and relies on something more primitive when he's forced into a corner. He isn't exactly sure what he's afraid of: the world, maybe. Maybe something bigger. Most of his fears are downright ridiculous, like the walls coming down on him or the earth collapsing from orbit. Tunnels suddenly closing in on him while he's walking through. Too many apocalyptic theories; too many unknowns. Fainting is no rarity for him when he's scared and nose-bleeds have become common during periods of anxiety. Paranoia and caution had set in at an early age. A rash bitterness towards strangers and anyone but the closest friends belies a greater problem. He holds a powerful distrust in everyone he meets, no matter how well he knows them. He has a hard time believing the things he's being told.
He prefers warmer climates; becomes drowsy, slower and grumpier when cold. Seriously, if you wanna irk Cheek without wasting any expenses: dump him somewhere cold and he'll crumble into a weeping ball of misery. He hates, hates, hates the cold. Have you ever seen a Tanuki cry? It's pathetic, and really, really sad.
If Cheek's bereft of alcohol, specifically sake, for long periods of time than he'll turn into a useless blob of jelly. It's his life-force; the ba-rump-pa-ra-pum-pum to his beating drum. And when he gets depressed, he sleeps excessively, refuses to eat, engages in repetitive behaviour and coops himself up in his secret hideouts. He's never without a sploshing flask of rice wine.

Inventory: Generally carries a sleek cellphone with leaf stickers peeling off the back and a small coin accessory dangling from the antenna; an earthy-coloured parasol; a paper fan tucked into the back of his pants; an empty purse stuffed with leaves; two clay sake bottles; and several vials of unknown soils.
Minor Ability: None
Additional Guise: Y'know, there's some useful disguises in the incredibly mundane. Everyday objects can shield you from disaster. If you're being chased: simply take the shape of an old, rusty kettle or a pile of rattling pots. His capabilities often range and fluctuate on a day-to-day basis. He's not perfect. Sometimes, Cheek can't perform the most basic transformations. He can also take the form of a busty woman: all long legs, sultry eyes, full lips and a mane of black hair. It's aesthetic purposes is to trick people; piss 'em off.

LIFE

Hobbies:

Likes:

“Stay as long as you like.” While it's known that his egocentric and indecisive nature keep him from getting emotionally invested with anyone, he finds it rather easy to see the beauty in people of all shapes and sizes. That’s probably why it’s so easy for him to admit his curious attraction to both genders. Cheek adores women and men of all walks of life—never truly discriminating from race, size, skin, or nationality—admitting them into his arms willingly and frequently. Everyone needs a little love.
You probably think he's the laziest bastard in the world, what with his lidded eyes and vacant expressions, and you're probably not off the mark, either. But Cheek still loves, adores, fancies running. The feel of his feet clad pounding against the ground, muscles burning in his legs, and wind whipping against his face and whistling past his ears; Cheek lives for that feeling. Being able to live in an open space where you have miles to run without being stopped or having to turn around makes the man happy and gives him a sense of freedom. Whenever he has things to think about or is just completely bored out of his mind, Cheek will take a jog and everything will be better to him. He's gotta' be in good running shape to outrun all those blades aimed for his tricky heart.
This is simple, really. The suns' a beautiful thing. He loves the the warmth of the sun against his skin. He also loves the way the sun warms the ground and the way it casts its' shadows; offering sanctuary and a good hiding place.
Baking, not cooking. Gosh, people, there's a difference! He loves to experiment with different cookie and pie recipes, so be prepared for a whole array of desserts from him. He can also bake pizzas and pasta dishes. He's got a cute cooking hat and apron just for such occasions. Don't diss them, y'know you love them.
First and foremost: wine. Straight, on the rocks, or in a cocktail glass with a lemon wedge, as long as he's assured a buzz. He's a social drinker, finding it much easier to look past his timidity once he's had a few drinks. The skew in perception isn't bad either. There's nothing wrong with feeling extraordinary, if only for a few hours. The only thing better than alcohol is alcohol and cigarettes. He can smoke a pack a day, but would rather do it with a drink in hand.

Dislikes:

Large crowds put him in a bad mood, especially when he has no choice but to bear with them. There are too many voices speaking out at once, too many people passing by, and too many colours meshing together. He does his best to contain himself, keeping to the edge of a crowd rather than the centre with his head down and arms crossed tight. Either that, or he's squishing himself past with his elbows flying, hoping you'll duck away and offer him a clear exit.
One of the things Cheek dislikes the most is fighting; any kind of violence terrifies him. He doesn't really understand why everyone can't get along and just be happy. Now, you might be thinking, “Well, with that kind of thinking, why the hell is he in a gang?” There's a few things he's learned on the streets. If you're not with the tough guys, you're with no one. If you're allies aren't opposed to slicing a few heads off some shoulders, than you're in the right place. Be dirty. Stab people in the back when they're not looking. It's the only way to fight that won't get you killed.
Alright, Cheek loves people who can take charge and lead him in the right direction. But, but, but, he doesn't like when you're breathing in his face, trying to scare the shit out of him because he's just not doing it right. Independent women, specifically, terrify him.
High pitched sounds; what can I say? They violate his hearing. Makes him wanna stuff oversized tampons in his canals—... ear canals. He's got sensitive ears, alright?

Fears: You probably haven't met someone as jumpy, paranoid and generally, as twitchy as Cheek. It's in his nature; it crawls through his veins. Surviving, or rather surviving comfortably, is his highest priority. When his freedom is threatened, you'll most certainly find Cheek absent. If you were relying on him for backup, specifically something involving physical backup, you'll probably be disappointed and a little pissed off. He's afraid of fights; fists slamming into his nose, sharp objects, bodily harm. Here's a little list: authority figures; genuine threats; losing control; manly women; being chased; sickness; Terajima-gumi clansmen; crowds; being cornered; being strangled to death; being held under water; commonality.
Agenda: Cheek doesn't have any hidden agenda. All he wants to do is stay alive; keep breathing; keep all his limbs attached where they belong and not become another nameless casualty in the streets of Japan. That's what he'd tell you if you were asking him. He wants to be unassuming, unnoticed, ignored. So badly does he want you to believe he's just another grunt serving no greater purpose than to further his clan, but that's not entirely true. “What do I want? Oh, everything. Everything there is. Everything there will be.”
Where they hail from: Saitama, Japan

Relations:
Lan Fan Poko-pon (Mother, Estranged): “First off, don't you dare give me orders! And don't you dare look at me like that! I'll cut your lips off and stuff them down your scrawny little throat, understood? Good! Now, eat your dinner.” That pretty much sums up his relationship with his mother. It's a wonder why he's so twitchy around people. She wasn't jolly like the other Tanuki—no way, she was a hellfire demon bitch. He's glad they're estranged. Presumed still alive and kickin'.
Nabashi Poko-pon (Brother, Estranged): “Look at you. Whiny little spitfuck—“ It's pretty obvious who his older brother took after. They never got along because Nabashi always acted like an almighty prick, ganging up on him with his mother. He hates him. Presumed still alive and kickin'.
Soa Ming (Father, Deceased): There's not much that comes to mind when reminiscing about his father. Cheek doesn't have anything to pull from; no memories of playing catch, no foolish grins of pride, nothing. He can't even remember his face. His mother wouldn't talk about him. Presumed to be dead.

Notable Experiences:

“You know I meant well, I just misunderstood the consequences. Wrong place, wrong time. Timing was never my strong point. I thought I was ready for anything, anyone in this case. In a house, in a heartbeat. What do you know of fear? It's not just what you feel. It's the stench. It's the retching. It's bonescraps, tendons, and serpents. It's broken vessels. It's holding your breath so long that you're afraid to exhale—because you'll smell it, you'll sweat it, you'll feel it underneath your fingernails. It's ugliness, weakness; it's you and it's me. If I've learned anything from my life, it's this: by admitting what we are, we get what we want.”

Nowadays, if someone told him that he didn't need to cure all of his imperfections and weaknesses, Cheek would've sourly laughed. If only someone had told him to tread his path proudly, confidently in the direction of whatever ambitions all youngsters tend to dream up. Unfortunately, Cheek's guidance was limited to his mother's frequent harassment and disquieting propagation. Her attitude was unceasingly glacial; her cruelty knew no bounds. By Tanuki standards, Cheek's mother was a bitch who offered no excuses. The joviality of communal, spiritual beasts must have flown clear of her mothers' womb. She wore her wealth as a shield and she wielded her influence freely. It wasn't love she sought. She didn't need love when the world lay at her feet: hers for the taking. Her greatest ambition was never to be brilliant, just unforgettable. Everyone has they're own story—she has her own, but I won't get into that. It's not important.

An empty, soulless relationship. A loveless marriage. Bound by the kicking, squalling things writhing in her belly. These are also the creatures' that caused his father to flee his home: Saita. Cheek's mother knew this more than anyone. His father, though he'd never come to know him, was apparently colder and crueler than she'd ever been. He would never come to love her and she knew she'd never love him. She'd been a good woman, a good wife. She watched as the light drained from his eyes and as he grew violent and stronger and colder. It was the distant relationship that formed and moulded Cheek's twisted opinions. The gradual mistreatment. A deadbeat lioness raking it's claws on the weakest slab of meat to conceal it's pain; open and raw.

“Eventually, it'll break your heart.”

Cheek's never had bruises blossoming across his skin like multicoloured petals. He's never had swollen lips or black eyes; not at their hands. His mother, not even his older brother, had ever laid a paw on him. They didn't need to. Words were the key's to the heart. “Ugly and ungainly. The least dependable creature you ever met. Just when you think you understand him, he changes. If only I had a daughter. Nothing like your brother; nothing like him at all.” Over and over she disparaged him. You'd think he would be so used to it, he could not be hurt further. But if you were perceptive enough to notice, Cheek's neck grew stiffer and stiffer. The quiver in his jaw tightened, threading themselves into malevolent knots. His heart was hard. But his eyes: they were open. So, what do you know of fear? What do you know of clawing your way out?

“Now, let's skip all of that sappy shit. It's garbage; you and I both know that. I've taken myself away from all that I was. I've learned. I've moved myself forward. We are the causes of our own suffering—and when you know that, you can close your eyes against all the wrongs that have ever been done against you. I myself am made of flaws, I've stitched myself together with intentions. I didn't say good, I didn't say bad. Those are... restrictive, you know? That's the thing about people. Humans, spirits, it doesn't matter. We always want more. And I, I want everything.”

Miscellaneous:

He was neutered by a particular Terajima-gumi clansman—whose name will remain anonymous because Cheek's tried to block it out from his memory, including the fella' who did the deed—for being a naughty bugger. He screwed with the wrong people. He was taught a valuable lesson.