Post by shutN on Jun 9, 2011 14:20:44 GMT -6
General Information
Name: Emeral D. Leche
Nickname: Plague of East Blue
Bounty: 0
Gender: Male
Age: 14
Race: Human
Occupation: Pirate
Position/Rank: Cook
Birthmarks/Scars: Like any self respecting teen, Leche is slim and squishy. At least, that's what his conservative ensemble would have you believe; but, beneath the apron and buttons lies a toned, scarred contradiction of the muscled sort. Years of self (often mutilating) training has left his body an able canvas of old scars and stitches.
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Pysche Information
Likes:
● B u g s
● S u p e r h e r o e s
● E a t i n g
● C o o k i n g
● F o o d
● S w o r d s
● S l e e p i n g
● C l o u d s
● A d v e n t u r e
Dislikes:
● T h e W o r d N o
● S o a p
● T h i n k i n g
● C o f f e e
● A l c o h o l
● B a t h s
Personality:
Leche is very much like a child. That oh so special age where rhyme and reason are swallowed whole by self-satisfaction and personal freedom. A child who, by every extent of the phrase, plays life by the ear. Planning and forethought weren't invited to the party. They sit at home, asking each other what they want to do, while instinct gets down with its bad self. Couple that with a stubborn streak and you have yourself quite the hoedown.
As open-minded and flexible as Leche is, when he wants something, nothing, not even the World Government shaking its large, looming finger will deter him in the slightest. In a way he's catapulted, launched by his whims at each and every turn. His inhibitions have been atrophied to the point where they're nothing more than meek midgets in the corner of a crowded room, raising their hands every so often to chirp out an almost silent, “Um, excuse me?” So if a thought comes immediately to mind he acts on it, without so much as a pause or break. But that's not to say it's all bad.
Leche is almost adorably naive. So much, in fact, that you could make him eat dirt, after assuring him that it tastes very much like chocolate. He's also prone to awe inspired stupors when he sees something unusual or, in his side of the world, amazing. His eyes light up, his jaw drops and a single word lunges from his throat, as if shot out of a cannon, “Cool!” He is, for better or for worse, a perfect example of a individual bearing the name of “D”: stubbornly loyal, disinclined to stay down in a fight, and unafraid of death and its painful threshold.
Biography:
Every story ever told has that fated encounter: the hero tracking down the villain, Spot finding his long, lost owner, Timmy, and the rugged adventurer netting his latest Mcguffin. It's a defining moment that comes at the story's conclusion. For Leche, however, it was the beginning of his. Boy, no older than seven, met man, no younger than thirty. They stood, poised and ready to strike. A loan loaf of bread sat between them on a trashcan, its alter – the prize. Leche had spent most of his childhood oblivious, living from meal to meal. His aunt had warned him, time and time again, not to eat things out of the trash, or off the side of the road or off of other people's plates. But what his aunt didn't know, wouldn't hurt her. Today's adventure meal had competition in the form of Collart. Like him, he was hungry and dirty - two bums fighting over food.
The child was determined to come out full in this and no man was going to stand in his mouth's way. Twin, powerful legs shot forward toward the tin, kicking up dust as Leche's feet rapidly hit the ground. He was running and the man stood there, unmoving. Fine, the kid thought narrowing the distance, let him have it. It was better that way. But no sooner had his hand brushed the crust's surface he felt his stomach give a lurch. Looking down he saw a scabbard, a thick white stick running across his chest. Air left his lungs at once and he flew from the impact, landing several feet away, painfully on his back. Leche struggled for breath, coughing and gasping. Back at the trashcan Collart stood, smiling with the prize in hand, the sword mysteriously absent. How? The boy climbed to his feet and glared. Whatever, his thoughts remained positive, angry, he'd get him. Another desperate charge followed. His punch was blocked, his kick was avoided and again, like before, the hard, white club appeared, this time atop his skull. Every failed attempt was met with a bite of the bread. Collart mocked him with every chew and every fallen crumb until there was nothing left. Leche was a panting, sweating, tired mess on the ground. Bruises decorated his body like dull, black tattoos of pain. Collart, for his part, remained unscathed. He didn't even have the decency to appear winded. And he left then, coldly, leaving the boy beaten and hungry on the ground. What a bastard, Leche heaved.
In Collart, Leche found an enemy. A goal. He made his presence constant, following the former pirate like a dog. No matter how hard he tried to shake him, Leche always appeared hot on his trail. Again and again, the two fought over what morsels of food Mirrorball Island had to offer. It was a one-sided war of apples, bread and trash that led to defeat after defeat for the young D. Eventually it was no longer about stealing the man's food, it had become a contest of strength, a mission to win. Stick met scabbard as the boy and the man's duels escalated across the island, in town, on the mountain and even the docks – the man nearly screamed when Leche had jumped out of that barrel. Their relationship slowly evolved into something friendly, and the game of cat and mouse came to an end as Leche was welcomed into Collart's company. It made for a terrible combination for restaurants, everywhere.
Eat, run, don't get caught, every man for himself, and smile: these were the rules of Collart, and these were the rules that were pounded, often ruthlessly, into the skull of the young Emeral D. Leche. Years of getting left behind, to deal with angry chefs, had taught him much in the way of the world, behind the counter and inside the kitchen. The world of cooking. While nursing his wounds and washing their dishes, he'd find himself in awe of their craft. Many a meal and countless a cuisine was prepared before him as older friend and him toured the city, stuffing their faces and running like hell. But while he drank in the knowledge, greedily, there was little he could actually comprehend. Most of the recipes and techniques flew straight over his head and over the horizon. After all he wasn't exactly the sharpest spatula in the drawer. He was Leche. And it was because he was Leche that he gave it a shot, anyway. The results were anything but pleasant. Even with his aunt's help.
To Collaart's credit he had a cast iron stomach and could swallow most of Leche's culinary attempts. However as the years dragged on and the menu grew larger and more...exotic, their duels became less about beating the boy silly and more about passing on his talents in swordsmanship. He was, after all, a swordsman himself and was pretty darn good at it, if you asked him. Still Leche again proved to be a questionable student. Maybe it took him longer to learn things? Maybe he wasn't suited to wield a blade? Or maybe he was just stupid? Whatever the case might have been, Collaart was only able to teach him for so long. When Leche had reached the age of twelve he was gone. It was sudden and unexpected. The older man left Leche a sword and a promise. To become strong, to become so great that his name would be heard by everyone, everywhere. If he did that, they would meet again. It was a promise the boy intended to keep as his friend, his stand-in father boarded a ship and left for a fate unknown.
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Combat Information
Weapon: His sword, a Meitō (one of many famous, named katana) lost its name after the disappearance of its original owner. Ignorant, Leche named the blade “Santoku bōchō” or roughly, “All-Purpose kitchen knife”. A title made even more sad by the fact that it's also used for cooking.
Fighting Style: As a D Leche possesses phenomenal strength and endurance. Not only can he withstand inhuman amounts of pain and injury, but he can also lift and throw things that stretch the imagination, bugging out the eyes of many a spectator. And while he prefers to wield a sword (his missing father's sword at that), it isn't rare to see him throw a punch or two; making him a formidable, though unorthodox adversary.
Leche's swordsmanship is anything but masterful. In fact it seems almost amateurish; a glossy bit of basics with nimble athletics thrown over it like glitter. It's incomplete, unrefined and as rough and unpolished as a burnt stone. However there's always room for improvement, a chance to polish, shine and clean that rock into a, well, nice, shiny rock. I'm not about to get ahead of myself with talks of diamonds. I mean, come on.
Fighting Style Weakness: Leche's an idiot. Not only in how he acts, but how he fights as well. You can expect a lot of tom, hank, or even bob foolery from this kid. Very rarely does he take a fight seriously, which can lead to some disastrous results.
Special Techniques:
TBA
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Sample:”You're looking good, Dan. Have you gotten taller?” The question was innocent enough as it rolled across the distance between them. They stood alone, facing one another. One smiled, while the other remained fixed like stoic stone. Marine and bounty hunter; David and Goliath. The whole thing had an air of grim seriousness about it. Like two friends catching up on old times, only with knives held metaphorically to each other's throats. It was heavy; like two tons of tension that threatened to give out at any moment. Still, it was only a matter of time before they ran into one another, today of all days.
Captain Justice was a threat. Even before Dan left the Marines. He was idealistic, passionate and most of all, stupid. Dan never particularly cared for him. Not then, not now, not ever. He was a thorn, a tolerated boil that needed regular treatment to keep it under control. It was a small wonder how he was able to remain a Captain. Maybe it was his sun catching smile or his overzealous charisma. Whatever it was, it just proved how far the Marines had fallen. They were soft, much too soft.
The bounty hunter's fist plummeted harmlessly into the ground, digging a massive crater and causing dust and stone to jump in fright. “Woah! Now, that wasn't very nice.” Had Justice not jumped out of the way, he would have ended up like the road beneath his feet. Concaved. Newport only stared, unfazed as his adversary gently returned to earth. Did he just float? As the question dawned on him, its answer immediately followed: devil fruit. There was a different man standing before him. Very different from what he was five years ago. Which was a problem. “Surprised? You shouldn't be. After all, the fight against evil is a never ending battle. Why, with adversity comes-” Another punch, another jump. Why couldn't he just shut up? Why couldn't he just stand still and let him catch the D boy? He was a fool. A blind, idiotic fool who, much to his own annoyance, was as capable as he was dumb. And he was now flying around like an insect, leaving Dan to remove his leg from the crumbled remnants of what had been a wall. Might as well had been tinfoil. Shouts were heard close by. Familiar yells that brought him here in the first place. Leche.
“My fight...isn't with you.” The bounty hunter said, simply.
“No, I suppose it isn't.” Captain Justice just smiled.
“Then...why?”
The question was met with a quick, thoughtful expression.
“Because, I think it's more interesting this way.”
The other man could only shake his head.
“Let's finish this...” Dan said. And Captain Justice could only blink as his former colleague reached for his coat's sleeve and tugged at it downwards, revealing flesh.
“I see,” realization sparkled in the Marine's eyes as he examined the limb, “I'm not the only one who changed.”
Minature den-den mushi were just adorable. Even more so when Miho was on the other line. The little fellow would purse its lips, furrow its brow – so serious – and speak woman. It was hard not to cuddle and coo (making for a very odd one-sided conversation), even there on the floor, surrounded by bits of wall and concrete. He was still alive.
"Cwapture Leche and those wiff him, my wittle Miho-kins." The Captain nestled his dirtied face against the snail as he picked himself up off the floor. He fought back the urge to wince. Ah, damn, his ribs were broken. Farther away, his den-den counterpart was puckering its mouth and closing its eyes adoringly. But, no sooner than the words had left his lips, Dan was back with a vengeance. "Oops, gotta go, commander. I have company."
The man-made missile that was Captain Justice was sent spinning once more out the other side of the house. Stone met flesh and crumbled with ease. Looking up, the Marine couldn't help but admire the long trench his body had unintentionally dug across the ground. Now that one had stung. Before he could estimate its length, however, a fist filled his vision. He couldn't dodge like before; all thanks to Dan's little 'trick'. The man giant was on top of him in a flash of movement thought impossible for someone of his size. The curled hand dwarfed his head and sent him flying for the third time that day. It was difficult to draw a comparison when it came to being hit by Dan. He could say it was like getting bludgeoned by a sledge hammer. But that did it little justice; like comparing a needle to a sword, which was attached to more swords in a room filled with swords. Frankly, getting hit by Dan was like...getting hit by Dan. It hurt. A lot.
"If I didn't know any better, Dan," Justice wiped at his mouth, "I'd say you were trying to kill me." A throat full of blood agreed.
"Give up..." The bounty hunter watched impassively as the other man struggled to stand.
"Give up?" He looked incredulous. Talking was becoming difficult; was his face swelling, already? "If justice has taught me anything it- What's that over there!?" Surprise went off like a bomb on the Marine's broken face, and his finger lunged forward, pointing behind the towering man. It was contagious; Dan turned to look. But instead of an eye catching spectacle he was greeted with a fist to his face. "Justice punch!" It was Dan's turn to fly.
Captain Justice was gone. Or, to be more precise, he disappeared. And his parting words echoed in Dan like a familiar, booming chime. “Soru!” The human body was capable of so much. Strength, speed: anything could be transcended into the realm of superhuman. He was a walking example of that very fact. But while a normal person couldn't hope to follow the movement of someone as fast as Justice, Dan was hardly normal. The incoming punch was avoided within inches. His neck moved to the side - fist sailing by - as if he were idly stretching. But, Justice wasn't done. A kick followed another kick, eager to land where his hand had missed previously. And while Dan wasn't the least bit accommodating, the speed and power behind the other man's legs left him little choice. They hit with enough force to level iron. For the first time in a long time, Dan felt himself reeling in pain.
The building shuddered as the bounty hunter sat up. A smog of dust and stone clung to the air; remnants of his speedy, destructive entrance. Before he could climb to his feet, the Marine was on him. Which suited Dan just fine. He was eager to return the favor. Speed met speed as the two of them clashed.
“Soru!” They echoed, fist to fist; boulder to pebble.
Undeterred, Dan threw his other arm forward, only to have it met by the Captain in an identical fashion. He was beaming as the both of them stood there in mid swing, pushing against one another's knuckles in a manly contest of strength.
“Finally taking me serious, Dan?” The bounty hunter only grunted in reply. They were a picture of clenched teeth and flexed muscles, pulsing and sweating as they poured everything into their arms. Death was the underlying intent while frustration took the high ground, waving a big, red flag.
That smile of his was getting really annoying.
If Dan and Justice had a captivated audience, gripping the edge of their seats with eyes glued to the action, they'd be a disappointed bunch. Both were a blur, a pair of human rockets bombarding one another like two pendulums on a constant crash course. They'd meet, exchange fire, and break off, only to do it all over again. Lather, rinse, repeat. It wasn't much to look at, especially at the speeds they were going. To the untrained eye, they were ghosts in motion, invisible, save for the destruction left in their mutual wake. Their stalemate.
The area was a mess. Buildings laid in ruin, as if blown apart by bombs, and pieces of the street jutted out of the ground like splintered bone. The chaos was deserted, save for two. Was it Justice? Had the Captain planned that far ahead, to avoid innocent casualties? The wreckage held nothing but space. Space that was now smothered in stone. Good, the bounty hunter couldn't help but think. The only person he wanted dead was the man in front of him. The Ds would have to wait.
Dan drew his arm back and briefly ran two fingers across his torn lip. He felt a familiar wetness and pressed down. Captain Justice was strong, alright. Strong enough to hurt him. Strong enough to make him bleed. But the fight was just beginning. The beginning of the end. With a grunt Dan disappeared in a flash. Soru carried him behind the bewildered Captain. And while Justice was quick enough to catch the first punch, the second one found its mark. Thick fingers wrapped around the man's head, cutting off most of his senses. The Marine clawed at the branch-like digits, but to no avail. Dan held his ground, mumbling.
“Red Eye...” He tossed his captive aside, letting his body crash into a wall before falling into a pile of debris.
“What...” Captain Justice rubbed at his eyes, his vision blurry. “What did you do?” His hands came back wet, and he almost let out a sickening gasp. They were covered in blood. His eyes were bleeding. Try as he might to shake it off, the Captain found his legs uncooperative. He rose, then fell. Rose again, and fell again. Why couldn't he move?
“You are...strong.” The giant towered over the Marine, starring down at him. His guard had vanished and his arms were at his sides. Captain Justice was no longer a threat to him. “But not...strong enough.”
“What...” Talking was becoming difficult. It was as if his body wasn't his anymore. Like he was a spectator who could only see and feel.
“Your...body...” Dan bent down, digging his fingers under what was left and intact of the house in front of them. “Is...now...” With a heave of effort, the building rose into the air. Dirt fell as it climbed the inches, as it scaled the feet. “Mine.” And just as soon as it went up, it came crashing down onto the helpless Captain. The area was soon engulfed in a screen of dirt and dust.
Captain Justice was a threat. Even before Dan left the Marines. He was idealistic, passionate and most of all, stupid. Dan never particularly cared for him. Not then, not now, not ever. He was a thorn, a tolerated boil that needed regular treatment to keep it under control. It was a small wonder how he was able to remain a Captain. Maybe it was his sun catching smile or his overzealous charisma. Whatever it was, it just proved how far the Marines had fallen. They were soft, much too soft.
The bounty hunter's fist plummeted harmlessly into the ground, digging a massive crater and causing dust and stone to jump in fright. “Woah! Now, that wasn't very nice.” Had Justice not jumped out of the way, he would have ended up like the road beneath his feet. Concaved. Newport only stared, unfazed as his adversary gently returned to earth. Did he just float? As the question dawned on him, its answer immediately followed: devil fruit. There was a different man standing before him. Very different from what he was five years ago. Which was a problem. “Surprised? You shouldn't be. After all, the fight against evil is a never ending battle. Why, with adversity comes-” Another punch, another jump. Why couldn't he just shut up? Why couldn't he just stand still and let him catch the D boy? He was a fool. A blind, idiotic fool who, much to his own annoyance, was as capable as he was dumb. And he was now flying around like an insect, leaving Dan to remove his leg from the crumbled remnants of what had been a wall. Might as well had been tinfoil. Shouts were heard close by. Familiar yells that brought him here in the first place. Leche.
“My fight...isn't with you.” The bounty hunter said, simply.
“No, I suppose it isn't.” Captain Justice just smiled.
“Then...why?”
The question was met with a quick, thoughtful expression.
“Because, I think it's more interesting this way.”
The other man could only shake his head.
“Let's finish this...” Dan said. And Captain Justice could only blink as his former colleague reached for his coat's sleeve and tugged at it downwards, revealing flesh.
“I see,” realization sparkled in the Marine's eyes as he examined the limb, “I'm not the only one who changed.”
Minature den-den mushi were just adorable. Even more so when Miho was on the other line. The little fellow would purse its lips, furrow its brow – so serious – and speak woman. It was hard not to cuddle and coo (making for a very odd one-sided conversation), even there on the floor, surrounded by bits of wall and concrete. He was still alive.
"Cwapture Leche and those wiff him, my wittle Miho-kins." The Captain nestled his dirtied face against the snail as he picked himself up off the floor. He fought back the urge to wince. Ah, damn, his ribs were broken. Farther away, his den-den counterpart was puckering its mouth and closing its eyes adoringly. But, no sooner than the words had left his lips, Dan was back with a vengeance. "Oops, gotta go, commander. I have company."
The man-made missile that was Captain Justice was sent spinning once more out the other side of the house. Stone met flesh and crumbled with ease. Looking up, the Marine couldn't help but admire the long trench his body had unintentionally dug across the ground. Now that one had stung. Before he could estimate its length, however, a fist filled his vision. He couldn't dodge like before; all thanks to Dan's little 'trick'. The man giant was on top of him in a flash of movement thought impossible for someone of his size. The curled hand dwarfed his head and sent him flying for the third time that day. It was difficult to draw a comparison when it came to being hit by Dan. He could say it was like getting bludgeoned by a sledge hammer. But that did it little justice; like comparing a needle to a sword, which was attached to more swords in a room filled with swords. Frankly, getting hit by Dan was like...getting hit by Dan. It hurt. A lot.
"If I didn't know any better, Dan," Justice wiped at his mouth, "I'd say you were trying to kill me." A throat full of blood agreed.
"Give up..." The bounty hunter watched impassively as the other man struggled to stand.
"Give up?" He looked incredulous. Talking was becoming difficult; was his face swelling, already? "If justice has taught me anything it- What's that over there!?" Surprise went off like a bomb on the Marine's broken face, and his finger lunged forward, pointing behind the towering man. It was contagious; Dan turned to look. But instead of an eye catching spectacle he was greeted with a fist to his face. "Justice punch!" It was Dan's turn to fly.
Captain Justice was gone. Or, to be more precise, he disappeared. And his parting words echoed in Dan like a familiar, booming chime. “Soru!” The human body was capable of so much. Strength, speed: anything could be transcended into the realm of superhuman. He was a walking example of that very fact. But while a normal person couldn't hope to follow the movement of someone as fast as Justice, Dan was hardly normal. The incoming punch was avoided within inches. His neck moved to the side - fist sailing by - as if he were idly stretching. But, Justice wasn't done. A kick followed another kick, eager to land where his hand had missed previously. And while Dan wasn't the least bit accommodating, the speed and power behind the other man's legs left him little choice. They hit with enough force to level iron. For the first time in a long time, Dan felt himself reeling in pain.
The building shuddered as the bounty hunter sat up. A smog of dust and stone clung to the air; remnants of his speedy, destructive entrance. Before he could climb to his feet, the Marine was on him. Which suited Dan just fine. He was eager to return the favor. Speed met speed as the two of them clashed.
“Soru!” They echoed, fist to fist; boulder to pebble.
Undeterred, Dan threw his other arm forward, only to have it met by the Captain in an identical fashion. He was beaming as the both of them stood there in mid swing, pushing against one another's knuckles in a manly contest of strength.
“Finally taking me serious, Dan?” The bounty hunter only grunted in reply. They were a picture of clenched teeth and flexed muscles, pulsing and sweating as they poured everything into their arms. Death was the underlying intent while frustration took the high ground, waving a big, red flag.
That smile of his was getting really annoying.
If Dan and Justice had a captivated audience, gripping the edge of their seats with eyes glued to the action, they'd be a disappointed bunch. Both were a blur, a pair of human rockets bombarding one another like two pendulums on a constant crash course. They'd meet, exchange fire, and break off, only to do it all over again. Lather, rinse, repeat. It wasn't much to look at, especially at the speeds they were going. To the untrained eye, they were ghosts in motion, invisible, save for the destruction left in their mutual wake. Their stalemate.
The area was a mess. Buildings laid in ruin, as if blown apart by bombs, and pieces of the street jutted out of the ground like splintered bone. The chaos was deserted, save for two. Was it Justice? Had the Captain planned that far ahead, to avoid innocent casualties? The wreckage held nothing but space. Space that was now smothered in stone. Good, the bounty hunter couldn't help but think. The only person he wanted dead was the man in front of him. The Ds would have to wait.
Dan drew his arm back and briefly ran two fingers across his torn lip. He felt a familiar wetness and pressed down. Captain Justice was strong, alright. Strong enough to hurt him. Strong enough to make him bleed. But the fight was just beginning. The beginning of the end. With a grunt Dan disappeared in a flash. Soru carried him behind the bewildered Captain. And while Justice was quick enough to catch the first punch, the second one found its mark. Thick fingers wrapped around the man's head, cutting off most of his senses. The Marine clawed at the branch-like digits, but to no avail. Dan held his ground, mumbling.
“Red Eye...” He tossed his captive aside, letting his body crash into a wall before falling into a pile of debris.
“What...” Captain Justice rubbed at his eyes, his vision blurry. “What did you do?” His hands came back wet, and he almost let out a sickening gasp. They were covered in blood. His eyes were bleeding. Try as he might to shake it off, the Captain found his legs uncooperative. He rose, then fell. Rose again, and fell again. Why couldn't he move?
“You are...strong.” The giant towered over the Marine, starring down at him. His guard had vanished and his arms were at his sides. Captain Justice was no longer a threat to him. “But not...strong enough.”
“What...” Talking was becoming difficult. It was as if his body wasn't his anymore. Like he was a spectator who could only see and feel.
“Your...body...” Dan bent down, digging his fingers under what was left and intact of the house in front of them. “Is...now...” With a heave of effort, the building rose into the air. Dirt fell as it climbed the inches, as it scaled the feet. “Mine.” And just as soon as it went up, it came crashing down onto the helpless Captain. The area was soon engulfed in a screen of dirt and dust.
