Announcements: Universe of the Month! » Finding Universes to Join (and making yours more visible!) » Guide To Universes On RPG » Starter Locations & Prompts for Newbies » RPG Chat — the official app » USERNAME CHANGES » Suggestions & Requests: THE MASTER THREAD »

Latest Discussions: Presuppositionalism » Aphantasia » Skill Trees - Good, Bad & Ugly » In-Game Gods & Gameplay Impact » Cunningham's Law » The Tribalism of Religion » Lost Library » Game Theory » The Hidden Void » Removing CS From an Indy Universe : Solution » On the Matter of New Players and Orphaned Plays » STOP BLAMING US FOR RPG BEING SLOW! » Polytheism » The Game of Life » Just War » Science and Philosophy » The Bible as Literature » Humans in the MV. Questions and thoughts. » Surviving the post-holiday apocalypse. » SL: 1097 Bestiary of Monsters »

Players Wanted: Looking for roleplayers » A Fairytale World in Need of Heroes & Villains! » Are You a Crime Addict? » Wuxia RP » Looking for roleplayers » New Realistic Roleplay - Small World Life Ù©( ´・ш・)و » Mentors Wanted » MV Recruiting Drive: sci-fi players wanted! » Veilbrand: The Revolution » Gonna do this anyway. » Looking for Kamen Rider Players » Elysium » Looking for roleplayers for a dystopian past! » Revamping Fantasy Adventure RPG, need new players » Here, At the End of the World (supernatural mystery drama) » Seeking Role Players for a TOG Based RP » so I made a Stranger Things RP idk why not come join » LFP - New Roleplay » Gifted/Mutant individuals escaping the gov » Spaceship Zero! A retro horror sci fi RP with rayguns :D »

0
followers
follow

Kohta Honda

"Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive"

0 · 847 views · located in Tokyo, Japan

a character in “Immortal Ties”, as played by Dolly

Description

      ImageImage
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
──────────────────────────────────────────

KOHTA HONDA.....................................Reincarnation
xxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxx

An eccentric failed poet living in seclusion, speaking in riddles and reading constantly to quell his existential fears. Dispirited from the untimely death of his parents.

...Image【 Age 】.......20......................【 D.O.B 】.........970102
【 Origin 】.... Japan...............【 Sexuality 】....Pansexual

x
x
x
x




xxxxxxxx
I. ..A D . H O M I N E M



xxxxxx
xxxxxx
xxxxxx
xxxxxx
xxxxxx
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
ImageImagexx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx

        A S P E C T U S
        5'8 | brown | black


        It is said that we are the dreams of our parents, lost in the future. Within us are echoes of them- desires that they had, features passed through generations. Kohta sees the only living remnants of them everyday as he looks in the mirror. Their ghosts settle like dust into the hollows of his cheeks, a reminder of a distant past that he has deemed inescapable.

        He exists not as a divine beauty of any sort, but instead possesses a peculiar charm- an innocence or unworldliness that is rare to find in a person his age. His eyes reflect this by virtue of being perpetually wide as if in amazement. He moves through the world with a certain airiness to his gait, as if no worries lay upon his shoulders. There is a quiet warmth to him. Something far-away, unspoken, yet ever-present.

        His fashion sense is rather old-world and dated, comprised mostly of his grandfathers hand-me-downs and vintage finds. He is content in almost any garment that is clean, possessing little to no knowledge of colour theory in regards to clothing. However he is rarely seen in bright colour, preferring subdued tones of grey, green and brown. He often wears a yukata during drawling summer days when the air is too humid and cloying for anything else.







xxxxxx
xxxxxx
xxxxxx
xxxxxx
xxxxxx
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
ImageImagexx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
        P E R S O N A
        eccentric | capricious | anxious | oblivious

        Despite the inevitability of oblivion and the failure of memory, he still wanders through life rather aimlessly looking for a nameless something that will cure all his ails. He looks for meaning in the meaningless, and sees the beauty of the mundane, hears the voices of those who don't exist. A lifetime of periodical solitude and isolating behaviour has seen him acquire a number of obscure and peculiar practices. For example, his ongoing intellectual relationships with inanimate objects. His closet friend is a tree that speaks to him about a range of subjects. It has given him a plethora of strange beliefs and wisdom. This tree is simply an extension of his own ego or something similar, although he of course isn't aware of this and believes in the complete existence of the talking tree.

        He is a poet - not a particularly successful one by conventional standards, seeing as his work seems to be for his eyes only. Yet he is obsessive and writes constantly. For what purpose? In all honesty he does not understand the motive behind it. Perhaps it is a way his mind keeps itself occupied under its dull conditions. It has become so present in his life that he has even begun to speak in rhymes and riddles when he talks, often confusing the listener. This feeds into the fact that that his conversational skills are abysmal. He speaks in a stream of consciousness type of way, pauses to think- leaving uncomfortable silences, trails off on random tangents and says whatever crosses his mind. As a consequence of reading too much he is overly articulate and his vocabulary unnecessarily ornate and convoluted. Together these facts contribute to a pattern of speech that is almost reminiscent of some sort of individual dialect.

        Being, of course, a person of contradictory desires and moral complexities, his general mood and manner is always somewhat fickle. Whilst he is genuinely well meaning, kind and easily pleased, he is also easily discouraged. A sensitive and ridiculously self-centered individual, often a stray word or sharp look can hurt him. He can be excessively melodramatic at times, all part of the "tortured, brooding poet" that is Kohta Honda. Sometimes he can stray into bouts of "woe-is-me" in which he proceeds to wallow in despair and self-pity. Of course he has legitimate reasons to be sad, yet often he is upset about the little things or uncontrollable factors to avoid thinking of his real issues.

        While he has always been unconventional, the accident has definitely exacerbated it, leaving him holed up in his grandfather's labyrinthine estate reading Proust and being in a state of constant ennui, talking to a tree.




xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxS O U LxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxE G O

xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
「AESTHETE」 ➤..He is very easily moved by beauty.

「AMICABLE」 ➤..He has a certain warmth and politeness about him.

「WELL-READ」 ➤..He has read many books in his short lifetime.
┊
┊
┊
「SENSITIVE」 ➤..Deftly described as being in possession of a "glass-heart"

「DYSTHIMIC」 ➤..He has persistent mild depression that varies in intensity.

「WEAK」 ➤.. He has never been one to pursue strength in any way.





xxxxxxxx
II. ... I M M O R T A L I S . M O R T A L E





xxxx
xxxx
xxxx
xxxx
xxxx
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
ImageImagexx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx
xxx

        A C T U M .T E M P U S


        His life exists solely in a strange purgatory of the soul, time spent not being the tragedy, but the child in which time has left forgotten. Ephemeral moments of happiness are clouded by monotony. Perhaps he himself has even forgotten a number of things about those years. There is no one around him who can express them in great clarity and the pictures have been lost in time. His memories, however shrouded in uncertainty they are, give him some amount of comfort in a world where he barely exists at all. Inside him there is a bitter yearning- at this present moment he is not sure what for. A home? He remembers his childhood home as uncomfortable and austere, yet he longs to go back. His parents? Truthfully, they weren't the best of parents. Yet each day he misses what they had. He escapes to a time in which he felt at ease in the world, he was loved, he lived next to a beautiful lake, and he had some kind of meaning or purpose.

        In those forgotten years he often dreamed of becoming a great poet, the written word forever a silent consolation in a world in which talking seldom stopped. His house was situated in an idyllic yet somewhat remote area and as such he often spent those formative years alone, his only stimulation being the abundance of books in the Honda house. On his first day of school, it was discovered that he would not talk. His parents had noticed to some extent that he would never say a word to strangers yet believed it to be a result of childhood timidity. He instead had selective mutism. In spite of his kindness, this alone was enough for him to be ostracized socially. To cope with loneliness he often conversed with inanimate objects, providing him with some sort of outlet. He was referred to a psychiatrist at the age of twelve and rather slowly began to speak. However, the damage was done. His parents died in a car accident and he fell into mental instability, deciding against attending college further. He currently resides within the confines of his grandfather's estate. He hasn't stepped foot out of the estate in seven months and is going through some kind of crisis.

        For Kohta, there is no real beginning nor end. Before his current life he was another. His soul was first born in the late 9th century as Fujiwara no Himeko or Lady Ume- a poet. She was widowed early in her marriage and went on to have multiple lovers of either sex. She penned the novel written in poem form "Lullabies of Time" which has been described as one of the classics of the Heian period. Himeko died young- in the winter of 930AD she was murdered under mysterious circumstances and it has been speculated that a spurned lover may have killed her. His second life began in 1844 when Silas P. Hopkins was born in London. Silas, an English poet and bon vivant has been described as a heavy drug user of various substances, and an impulsive and charismatic sensualist. Silas died of an overdose due to mixing absinthe and various other substances. Posthumously his poems gained a small amount of recognition. They also seem to be written under the influence, the content being rather abstract and even absurdist.




    Image
                  ( OOC )

                  FACE CLAIM: kento yamazaki
                  HEX CODE: #aeaeba
                  PORTRAYED BY: dolly
                  CS CREATED BY: epimetheus
                  TIME ZONE: GMT

                  DISCLAIMER: This sheet uses
                  code written by Epimetheus, with
                  portions of her work inspired by
                  Verix. All credit goes to them.
                  _( ASSOCIATED )
                  ..words and phrases

                  when you call him to catch up
                  "Like a zen master who you go to for advice
                  that ends up giving you really cryptic answers"
                  are you going to finish that croissant?
                  "he's lonely and needs a hug
                  by someone that isn't a tree." - verix, 2k17
                  his daily struggle
                  an example of his poetry
                  A Moral Dilemma
                  _( MISC )

                  forgot to add this but at random times
                  he's reckless and acts all charming & has an urge to go to an opium den.
                  The Silas Times. plus thats prob why he acts like he's tripping sometimes.
                  bc he really is. technically. even as a child, which is probably not safe/healthy...
                  also he can be randomly rude/blunt/coquettish/wistful at Himeko Times
                  he also remembers being murdered strongly. but he suspects its his weird
                  imagination.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

So begins...

Kohta Honda's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Luciana de Silva Character Portrait: Marlon Page Character Portrait: Kohaku Character Portrait: Cassius Dōriēwes Character Portrait: Minako Character Portrait: Seung Character Portrait: Teruki Satou Character Portrait: Alucio Character Portrait: Cara Chung Character Portrait: Ikeda Shiori Character Portrait: Ryan 'Rango' Prosker Character Portrait: Basil Gardner Character Portrait: Jiangyu Bai Character Portrait: Kohta Honda Character Portrait: Aera Lee Character Portrait: Seok Areum Character Portrait: Kaede Shimizu Character Portrait: Wyatt Costanza Character Portrait: La Verne Caron Character Portrait: Paola Millán
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.25 INK

#, as written by Cloud
Image
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
CHAPTER ONE: THE BEGINNING
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Date: Evening, 1st April, 2017
Location: Tokyo City, Japan
━━━━━━━━━


xxxOnce, before Tokyo had been given its name, before tall spires of metal dominated the horizon and light polluted the sky, one could see the stars. They say it was the gods who wove constellations into the otherwise blank expanse of night sky; exposing pinpricks of light to tell stories of legends that would transcend time. Yet, as civilisation grew ever skywards, electric lights began to drown out the natural illumination of the night sky. There are still those who remember centuries long gone, whose gaze at the night sky and remember a time when it was only clouds that interrupted their view. The constellations had changed since they were young, shifting across the Earth’s sky as time flowed forward. Yet, more than one could still take comfort in the beauty of it.

xxx “A shame really.” The man commented absently, his gaze fixed upwards, past the canopy of sky-scrapers towards the sliver of cloudless ink visible above. “Once you could have made out millions of stars from anywhere in the prefecture.”

xxxThe surly teenager seated beside him grunted and shifted slightly away, unsure who this stranger was and why he had randomly started talking to him.

xxx “I made it, you know.” The man continued, an almost smug smile on his face as he leaned against the park bench. He didn’t seem to care that the youth was resolutely staring at the screen of his cell phone, attempting to tune out the rambling stranger. “I mean, I made everything really. You’re welcome by the way.” He paused and glanced at the mortal, as if expecting a ‘thank you’, or any other form of gratitude. When none was offered the man merely continued talking, “But, I am particularly proud of the stars. ”

xxxThe man’s dark eyes returned to the small portion of the sky not covered in thick cloud. He held his hand in front of his eyes, stretched out as if he might pluck the very stars from their homes in the sky. Instead, he waved his hand slowly from side to side, as if waving away a particularly bad smell. A satisfied smile lit his face as his hand fell to his side,

xxx “There, you see!” The man said, nodding towards the now cloudless sky. Though the light from numerous skyscrapers still dimmed the brightest of the stars, they seemed stronger now, shimmering happily above the world below. “Much better.”

xxxThe youth merely grunted again, his hands fiddling headphones into his ears as he attempted to tune out the well-dressed man beside him. Unfortunately, the man’s voice continued to blare through the headphones, as if the younger man’s music wasn’t playing at all.

xxx “I fancy myself as a bit of an artist, if I’m being frank.” He continued, a note of pride creeping into his words, “You see that tree there? I designed it, right down to the edges on the leaves.”

xxxThe teenager didn’t even glance up, too busy checking that he had plugged his headphones in properly. Of all the nights for them to stop working, it had to be when he was getting his ear talked off by some mental stranger.

xxxFrom behind the pair a female voice replied, full of barely contained impatience, “I think you’ll find that I was the one to design that tree. If I remember correctly, you were still babbling on about how sludge was going to be the next big thing.” The woman snorted in amusement. “Well, we all know how that went.”

xxx “Excuse me for trying to do something different.” He retorted hotly, even as he slid across the park bench to make space for the new arrival. Beside him, the irritated youth was silently cursing the two adults who had interrupted his brooding and was quickly stuffing his phone into his backpack. Without a word the kid stood, pulled his hood tightly over his head, and walked away.

xxxThe two gods barely seemed to register the departure, more concerned with the back and forth that had begun. “I make one mistake and you never let me forget it. I made flowers, and gave the world bees. Who doesn’t like bees?” His hands made exaggerated movements in the air.

xxx “One mistake? Oh, I can count at least three dozen you’ve made in the last decade alone.” The female retorted, slapping his hands casually away. She opened her mouth to continue, before changing her mind and instead adding, “But I didn’t come to bicker with you.”

xxxHe nodded. His partner had come for the same reason he had. He stood up slowly, stretching out his tall frame, before offering a hand to the woman. She took it with a nod, her head tilting slightly in a wordless expression of ‘after you’.

xxxA second later the two figures blinked into existence on the wind-swept top of a sky-scraper. From here they could see the city sprawled out below them; neon, artificial lights marking roads, shop advertisements, and the lit windows of residential apartments. Above them, cleared of the thick layer of clouds, was the night’s blanket of stars.

xxxThough no eyes – mortal or otherwise – happened to glance up at the tip of the building, had someone done so, they would have seen two immortals bathed in moonlight, watching their world with a confidence only the gods know. They were one and the same, and yet separate, two entities burning in a universe of their creation.

xxxHe was tall and pale, his feet rooted solidly in the ground beneath him even while his hands reached heavenward. His cheekbones were chiselled from marble, sharp enough to cut mountains. Dark eyes of endless knowledge inspected his world, while strands of hair the same pitch black were pushed back from his face with lithe fingers. His appearance was similar to natives of this land, albeit almost concentrated, as if he were the original that all others had been moulded by.

xxxShe, on the other hand, had the dark, warm skin of someone who would have been marked a foreigner had she walked amongst Tokyo’s population. Her face was softer; a smooth sculpture of beauty, with thick curls of coal-coloured hair engulfing her head. Pupils that whispered of eons gone by watched the city like a predator of old, her lips held tight in a thin frown as possibilities of the days to come ran through her mind.

xxx “Owari” He spoke her name like a resolution; a finality echoing from his lips; the end.

xxx “Hajimari.” She responded with his name; a beginning; a taste of fresh possibilities, and boundless growth.

xxx “Things are moving.” He stated, his eyes too seeing beyond the crawling traffic below. “Do you think they’re ready?”

xxx “They’ll have to be.” Owari responded, her tone firm.

xxxHajimari nodded, rising his gaze from the streets at his feet to the stars above. His hand rose, fingers splayed above his head as his eyes searched between the digits. “Perhaps a sign then.” He murmured, almost to himself. Though, Owari heard and followed her partner’s gaze to the heavens.

xxx “Many have long since forgotten us.” She reminded him as his fingers began to dance overhead. His hand made a graceful pulling motion, a soft breath left his lips, and then the first star fell across the night’s sky; a streak of pure light momentarily illuminating the heavens. More followed, creating a meteor shower for any who happened to turn their attention to the sky that night.

xxx “Well, perhaps this is for my comfort than.” Hajimari replied, his hands clasped behind his back as he admired his work. Owari let the silence build as she too watched the show above, until a dozen moments had passed.

xxx “They all have demons to face.” Her words rang with a hint of pity, for she knew the dangers that were to come.

xxx “Most are of their own making.” Hakimari responded, “They would have had to face them eventually.”

xxxOwari nodded, her curls shifting as if stirred by a gentle wind, “We can only watch now.”

xxxA look of slight guilt crossed the pale god’s face, his eyes flashing momentarily. His partner turned ever-perceptive eyes on him, her frown deepening as she sensed his intentions, “Hajimari, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, stop interfering with their lives!”

xxxAnd just like that, the aura of power and mystery that surrounded the two gods evaporated. Like an old couple, married for too long and all too aware of each other’s faults, they began trading words; barbs, insults, passive aggressive suggestions. A bird soaring above would be wise to avoid the area directly around the snapping deities, a rat might have taken sheltered in a solid pipe well below the pair too. For the less perceptive mortals, they continued their work without contemplating that above them stood two squabbling gods, or that among their number roamed immortals and ghosts. Even as the two gods disappeared, the only witness to their presence a pouting teenage boy, the world continued to move of its own accord.

xxxIn a shoe-box apartment only a few blocks from the building once occupied by the two gods, a Guardian Angel calling himself Kohaku was preparing to leave on work-related business. A short distance further, within the performance hall of one of Tokyo’s learning institutes, a blonde boy studying music gave his hands a shake as he glared at a piano piece. And further away, across vast oceans and mountain ranges carved and painted by the hands of the divines, a goblin’s hand reached for a door knob. Slim fingers curled around the brass head, her eyes shut, mind searching for the pull of her next destination. She opened the door and slid through, her eyes alighting on the clear windows of her Tokyo apartment to see stars decorating the sky.