To staff who read this: Be as harsh as you want, as this is NOT my best work. I don't like it a lot >.>;; But anywho!
YAAAAY IMMA DONE!
Arrancar Template
Name: Miuzerra, Merrow
Age: Total age: 2511 years old. 12 as a human, Less than 1 hour as a soul, 1256 as a hollow and the rest(approx. 1240) are as an arrancar.
Visual Age: As he was when he died, a 12 year old child.
Gender: Male
Appearance: A youth who has the looks of an innocent, angelic cherub. And whose odd gleaming smiles and cheery composure conceal the grotesque nature below.
He is rather diminutive for his age, and perhaps that is what gives him a harmless appearance. His hair is simple black (covered in detail later), his eyes are a dark shade of aquamarine, and his skin is of a fair complexion.
A remaining piece of his past that is proof of what he is, is his hollow mask: a clearly visible, but small patch of white around his left eye. A small area around his left eye is covered, extending mostly up to patch up a portion of the forehead. His left eye is still visible in the eye hole of the remnant.His Hollow Hole, another physical feature serving as proof as to what he is, can be found as a minuscule 'gopher hole' exactly 1 in (about 2.5 cm) below the bottom end of his sternum.
The only clothing he has been seen wearing is the common attire of most arrancar from Las Noches ... consisting of a white jacket, black sash, white hakama, and black and white boots that bear an opposing similarity to a Shinigami's sandals; in essence, inverted Shinigami uniforms.
(I am trying sketch out this character of mine. If I succeed and do not burn it immediately ... I will upload it as my avatar.)(Apologies for a generic description)
- Spoiler:
Personality: A sweet and innocent child who loves pranks, jokes, and company. A deranged being that gorges and chokes on the flesh and blood of his enemies. A warmonger, demented and soulless (by human standards, not spiritual), making use of the remains of enemies … their bones being his favorite chew toys. A loyal soldier to death, even when knowing full well that being loyal is nothing more than being a slave, not to the whims of another being, but the dark abysmal instinct that lurks in his own heart and mind.
Merrow is all of these things. They encompass all the various aspects of his badly fragmented psyche. Shattered over the long and mostly mentally shrouded life he spent, with killing and consuming as the only goals in life. The child representing his human side, the madman being the hollow, the soldier and warmonger as his arrancar. But these aspects are not individual identities; they are a conglomerate with several others that form the mental workings of this spiritual being. His personality could be on the verge of being bi-polar, if one considers the two ends of the extremes that his behavior and actions can reach … and they range from the sweet boy to the psychotic killer. He can also seem quite naïve … trusting to an extent where one could take advantage of him, although really this is merely the image he chooses to project, as he could not do so in his own past. However, there is a limit to how much trust he is willing to have in any one person.
At first glance and with first words exchanged with him(regardless of one‘s race), he seems to be a playful mischievous child, who seems to hold little interest in fighting. One could use Dardonni’s (Don Panini) line for describing him whiles he is amongst friends, ‘Sweet and soft like the chocolate’. He gives the idea that he is a deeply compassionate person, but really these emotions of good nature are only seen in the company of arrancar. He does have a deep attachment to his brethren, and refuses under most circumstances to fight with them as enemies. Of course, sparring, training, and the like are all right with him, but never will he consider them as the enemy until there is sufficient and immutable proof of their betrayal.
- The lighter end of the spectrum => Silly Child
He always likes to seek out some good-humored fun. Good-humored for an arrancar, that is, so pain, violence, wanton destruction, and the like are usually some of his daily antics, and many have fallen victim to his ‘pranks’. And he goes about any means to achieve his quota of ‘fun‘, no matter how foolish or childish or even dangerous(such as baiting a massive swarm of Gillian Menos to begin a procession march through inhabited area and crush all within their path) they may seem. These are the few exceptions when he would be willing to injure his fellow arrancar, though often with minimal physical damage and really all for comedic value. More than once has he gotten on the nerves of a comrade just through his ridiculous actions, which can range from weak explosives planted in their beds to drop-kicking them down a short flight of stairs(or out a window of a lower floor of the towers). Usually, his quota is achieved when he gets scolded by someone of superior rank.
-A being driven by riled hatred, both natural and artificial => Wrathful Soldier
Nonetheless, despite his rather crude and immature want of rather horrid moments of hilarity and refusal to fight against his own kind … he has no qualms with engaging in combat against those he considers enemies.
When engaging a spiritually powerful being of unknown race, he presents himself in an amiable and casual manner … taking as much time as necessary to discern what his enemy/opponent could be. After registering the being as whatever race he or she may be does he proceed to take action. If still unsure as to what his enemy is, he will keep to evasive maneuvers until he finds it out. Afterwards, he unleashes the full brunt of his hatred and carries out his attack.
Through instinct, experience, and instruction, he has been taught who is the enemy … and what an enemy deserves. Swift death is too good for a Shinigami, pain must be taught to them first before they can die. Suffering is not enough for the living (Quincy, Spiritually Powerful Human), they must be shown agony and must experience gut-twisting terror before they die. Or so goes the thoughts in his mind when he engages battle. Without a care in the world for innocents, without a care in the world for bystanders(unless arrancar), he attacks mercilessly with extreme savagery that stems from a millennia and half of contempt and a brain-washing reminiscent training with the arrancar of Las Noches which lasted for quite some time.
Who is the enemy to Merrow? He never answered the question himself, and took several ideas from his fellow arrancar. However, it took a long time before he found an adequate answer.
The enemy: All, regardless of race, age, gender, or any other discerning characteristics, who stand in the way of the general will of the arrancar. With such a definition, and the general will of arrancars being a want of war, everything and everyone could be an enemy. Even traitors, turncoats, and conspirators of the same race as Merrow would be decimated.
-War is buffet-line, but only those with a degenerated palette can enjoy its bounty => Psychotic Glutton
But even with his hatred, Merrow finds overwhelming joy in tearing a foe apart limb by limb. Satisfaction, gratification, with each one downed by his sword, his fist, his power. And with these emotions that would suggest a sense of pride for accomplishing the destruction of an enemy, comes a ravenous hunger stemming from his hollow nature. His means of attack are directly linked to his ire and his hunger, and he always aims to tear apart his enemies and devour them piece by piece. Enjoying the disgusting taste of their flesh, as the bitter and inedible bits of them are swallowed. He savors the taste of flesh and blood, but really … he enjoys the disgusted or terrified look displayed from either victims or spectators. And no matter what violent complaints or upheavals his body may give to the gruesome meal, he always consumes it.
Because of his innate ability (I recommend you read it NOW before going on), bones have become his chew toys. Thanks to the fact that they can be preserved even after the death of the enemy, he makes use of them with his teeth when in somber or irritated moods. Almost like a dog, he constantly hides these possessions throughout the ‘White Castle’ … and more times than none, someone has found a skeletal remain of his victim that he preserved to later chew on. Yet another one of his odd and disgusting habits, that he sees nothing wrong in doing.
Height: 3’ 8”(approx. 111.8 cm) - A dwarf, shrimp, stump, or any other words that would describe the vertically challenged.
Weight: About 100 pounds (approx. 45.36 kilograms)
Hair: Simple black. Moderate length, and swept back as though some tenacious parent figure used a comb of steel and several containers of gel. The only difference between that description and reality is that the hair is naturally like that ... and if forced out of position, it would take a few moments before it bends back in place.
Eyes: Interested aquamarine colored orbs that always remained locked upon the enemy (or soon-to-be-victim-of-mayhem). Eyes that shine brightly, and reflect the mad nature of their owner. Beyond that, the eyes themselves are two symmetrical ovals on the face. They are merely the tools of sight, and seem to hold no other significance, unless one wishes to be distracted by either the brightly odd color they are or the rather menacing and dreadful look they can give.
Nicknames: ‘Kid’, ‘Brat’, ‘Nuisance’, ‘Mad Crimson Clown’, ‘AHHHHHHHH!’(See quirk/habit #4)
Reiatsu Color: Gold
Reiatsu Power Level: Dangerous Levels of Power: High enough to be the equivalent of most Captains.
Likes: (AT LEAST 5)
1. His own twisted brand of humor
2. Mayhem orchestrated by him
3. Blood!!!!
4. Flying and Splattering Guts!
5. Shinigami Cookies!!(With 100% ingredients made from the average shinigami)
Dislikes: (AT LEAST 5 )
1. Everyone or everything that’s not an arrancar or hollow
2. Seiretei
3. The Human World (except when chowing down)
4. The concept of a Cero Espada
5. Arrancar Traitors
Habits/quirks: (3-5 )
1. A smile that is always constant on his face, whether amongst his allies or his enemies. Of course, when he gets tired, he stops grinning … or when he gets upset (see #2)
2. Hates being called short, and will respond violently towards the insulter, regardless of who it is, for calling him such! *connected to #3*
3. Despite hating it, he IS unusually short, and cannot reach most other ‘average height’ people … thus he resorts to jumping up and landing kicks to the head.
4. If bored beyond all reason, and he sees or wishes to greet another arrancar, he will tackle them. Then again, even if he doesn’t have a good reason, he’ll tackle them anyway.
Hollow Class: With prior approval from Fibrizo ~ Vasto Lorde!
History/Background: Merrow’s name was given to him by an Espada, who he served as fraccion to. It was given especially due to his love of chewing on bones … and a joke on his personality (mellow, which of course he is not). His last name was also given to him, but it was just contrived to fit him, as there is no real meaning behind it.
So he, a nameless child, had quite an unusual human history, as he lived during one of the grand heights of antiquity, the ‘Golden Age’ of the Greeks.
-Human => Detestable days, shrouded by ignorance … only near the end was it pleasant-He was unnamed and insignificant … an illegitimate son to an Athenian slave-owner. His mother, being a slave that came from almost the other side of the world, was nothing more than an object to this man. An object he decided to make the most out of, for this man was, by far, one of the most corrupt individuals of the city. Immediately after the owner did his duty, he took no care of the wrecked object … leaving her effectively to die, though he refused to disown her. Nine months later, Merrow(though that wasn’t his birth name) entered the world of the living, while his mother departed.
And he spent the first eight years of his life, employed as a slave to his own ‘father’. It was easy for the man to claim that the boy had no relation to him, after all, the child had inherited most of the traits from his mother’s gene pool. His dark hair, odd eyes, fair skin, and overall frail appearance, made it difficult to pin him as the son of an Athenian. But that appearance of his did not spare him of work. True, conditions were not overly brutal, but they had quite a few lasting effects on the boy, who never took in the freedom and absurdity a normal childhood would provide. (This indirectly leads to his personality today, as his foolishness spawns from his longing to experience the absolute ‘mayhem’, and as he does not truly ‘age’ he can go through it for a lengthy amount of time.)
But a stroke of luck, and timing, reversed his situation. His master, both biologically and legally, died of natural causes(or so the story went). The archaic precursor to a will and lawyer felt profound sympathy to those who had suffered at the hands of their ‘master’. With a loophole here and there, and the support of politicians, all who were owned by the man received honorary citizenship as a compensation for the severe abuse that had been heaped upon them for years.
The boy, now all alone and seemingly without a purpose, wandered the streets of the Greek city. He literally groped around the place, as he knew very little of the city and had been deprived of a solid, basic education. By chance, he came across and old man, accompanied(though at a distance) by several other youths. The elder man, whose bright eyes had a gentle gaze that could bore its way into the minds of whoever looked at them, literally interrogated a poor individual. The individual, a wealthy merchant judging by his clothes, stuttered madly and pitifully spewing out incoherent statements as the old man asked more and more questions.
He(Merrow) was fascinated by this unfolding scene, in which a possibly well educated and well off man was being berated someone who looked like an old beggar. The boy could not help put approach the other youths who stood around the speakers, and politely inquire as to what was going on.
As luck would have it, he had just witnessed Socrates questioning an ‘ignorant’ individual.
For the next three years, the boy followed Socrates and the other youths of Athens, watching him question individuals from all social classes about the meaning of life. He, over time, was taught the basics of education from the others, though it was a slow process … but perhaps his specific heritage made it slightly easier for him to acquire information? Either way, at the end of three years time, he had accumulated enough knowledge to be a literate individual with moderate skills in a wide variety of subject. But even better, his tutoring had given him a small, yet near-insatiable desire to learn.
Alas, all good things must come to an end. First with Socrates. Year 399 B.C., the execution of Socrates. Merrow was not present to see the death of this wonderful philosopher, who had inspired him to break free from the empty void that he had lived in prior to the chance encounter. No, the child had fallen ill. During the trial of Socrates, he tried his best to attend so as to see how Socrates dealt with that massive problem, but fatigue overwhelmed him. A disease unknown to the physicians of the area had stricken him, rendering him incapable of viewing the last few days of Socrates. He could not even see his idol to his death. So upon receiving the news that the great Socrates had consumed the hemlock, and peacefully passed on, he was disturbed to unknown proportions. Despite suffering from a disease, he became an insomniac, a fatalist, a pessimist, and fanatic of death. His mind went going on various tracks, looping around all sorts of various memories, hallucinations occurred regularly.
And the child, of twelve years old, died mad, yet at peace. Or really, he died in one of his rare moments of rest, while his subconscious bothered him with nightmares.
-Soul => An important part of any arrancar’s breakfast-To put it simple. Death was a painless process. And the transition of human to soul(konpaku?) was an uneventful one. Actually, he spent less than an hour as a soul before being devoured and converted into a hollow.
-Hollow => It begins.The creation of a hollow is very similar to being born, someone once commented. An individual reborn as such a monstrosity is immediately unaware of what has occured. They are, like a newborn child, temporarily unfamiliar with their surroundings ... responding instinctively to the new stimulus around them. The only difference between a human babe and a hollow, is that the instinct of the newly formed hollow is too lash out all around them.
Less than 5 minutes of rebirth, and a massive hollow already succumbed to the newly formed individual. A being that had multiple limbs composed of white bone-like material, and hardened tails with claws mounted at the ends of them. Merrow had succesfully gone through the transition between human soul and hollow, but still disoriented by the sudden change of perspective, he did not make use of whatever mental abilities or capacities he had developed while alive. Nope. The insectile Hollow just proceeded on killing all around it, driven by instinct to feed immediately ... as a hunger, unlike anything experienced before, bore into both its mind and its stomache. Several weaker hollows succumbed, unsuspecting devoured, weakened absorbed, and so on. Perhaps he was one of those few hollows, who upon being born, instinctively strive for evolution ... without ever realizing what path it was that they were following.
This carried on for centuries, with numerous areas of Hueco Mundo suddenly facing extreme decreases of Hollow population, as Merrow proceeded in and killed. He did not rest, he did not break, he did not stop. All he wanted to do was to kill, and that he did without end.
(Apologies for somewhat generic Hollow history)
-Gillian Class-
IS there anything to say about Gillains, who loose their own personality and individuality upon reaching such a state? Well, for Merrow, the only trait he retained ... was his desire to kill. And with such a drive to devour all, he did not lumber around aimlessly for years like his own kind would normally do, but continued to chase after Hollow and consume them. The Forest Of Menos proved to be an all-you-can-eat-buffet for him.
-Adjucha Class-
Upon breaking the shells of his towering colossus self, Merrow's mind was free ... again? Just like when he was human, kept in the dark from all around him, upon becoming an Adjucha ... 'all became light' is the phrase he uses for that moment. He couldn't reason as well as his human self could, but now he had idea of 'self'. And his perspective of life radically changed compared to all the stages before this one. Yes, he was driven by the need to kill(still), but now he could think about what it was that he was doing.
He soon began to question as to why he was killing. But that question soon lead to, what was he doing ... killing in the first place? And the questions didn't just stop at his purpose for killing, he soon questioned who he was ... for his name, at that point, was long forgotten. Thus, he was an unnamed being once more.
-Beyond Adjucha, and the End of his Hollow Existence-
To all the boy can remember, was his kidnapping. His questions had been answered by fellow hollow, with whom he had been able to spend some time with to ask all his questions. And with them answered, he promptly devoured them out of instinct and personal desire to acquire the ultimate stage of Menos evolution.
He DID become a Vasto. But what happened shortly is unknown to him. All that he recalls was a group of white-robed individuals, peeople ... yet they had masks, or parts of masks on them. His last thought wasted itself on asking who were these people. Until he had been knocked out and carried off.
(Apologies for near-generic Menos History)
- Spoiler:
-Arrancar => The Final Peace to the Puzzle; The Last Step-
Role-Play Sample:
'A white and vast plane. Sand about, vicious winds blasting it all across the grand white desert. And a group of oddly garmented individuals in the land of which monstrosities lurk. Their odd white clothes, looking like uniformed outfits, being even more pure than the color of the substance on which the walked across.
"Who are ... they?"
Approaching, silently shuffling, five in all. One gently smiling, the other four with near-emotionless expressions.
"What do they want?"
Slipped in their sashes, all of them, where swords. Each and everyone of them carried their own blade, though some of them already had latched their hand to the hilt of their weapons.
-Fear-
"S- ... shinigami!? Get away fro-"
-Pain-
.
-Then Darkness-
...
"GAAAAAH!" a black haired youth immediately sprung up from the couch he had bee laying on, head instantly colliding into the lower jaw of an elder man who had been peering down on him. The boy immediately reponded with pained cry, while the man calmly rubbed his chin.
"I see you've finally decided to wake up? Eh sleepy-head?" he responded with an amused chuckle. The boy, upon recovering from his pain immediately jumped in surprise at who this person was. A face he knew very well, for nearly the last century.
"The same one as in my dreams ...Master Novena, sir! Apologies for ah ... dozing ... off. Err ... what do you need of me, sir?" the youth immediately responded, his white jacket clearly like one of those in his dream ... his face partially covered by a patch of white bone. An arrancar, he stood at attention to his master, an Espada, with a humiliated look from being caught asleep.
"Eh? Isn't that one too many, sirs?" he chuckled again, an unusual smile upon his own visage that was supposed to have belonged to a seasoned killer amongst the arrancar, "Anyhow, I just thought we'd continue your lessons ... seeing as how, y'know, you became an arrancar in a rather unorthodox manner."
With those last few words, the boy's composure radically changed as he gleefully smiled. Unlike perhaps other 'children', he was delighted to take in the history of Las Noches ... the grand tradition of the arrancar of that castle, and the long history that had spawned from within the enormous castle ages ago.
"Yes sir!" he almost chirped in response and without much another word, Novena and Fraccion departed towards another room in the Espada's respective palace. The commute taking less than a few minutes, which lead to a circular room and, surprisingly, a couple other Fraccion.
"Another few familiar faces?" the boy commented mentally, as he noted these four people to also be from his dreams. Although, they seemed to have scowls for faces rather than chisled features.
"Now then. Let's review something ... shall we? First,
What is an 'enemy'?" the near-melodic and calming voice of the Novena suddenly turned harsh and unpleasant with the final line and first question of his. His eyes which had been calmly looking about now glared harshly through the room, focusing on the boy Fraccion that had just awoken. Such fierceness from the Novena surprised that very boy, who, for a moment, was at a loss of what to say. "I'll repeat again ... What is an 'enemy'?"
"Err .. ah. An ene ... enemy, sir, would be anyone fighting against us?" he stammered out nervously.
"Good ... now then, who IS the enemy?"
"All things not arrancar or hollow can and are the enemy!" the boy responded, with a bit more vindiction.
"What about those, arrancar, who rebel against us? What are they?"
"Traitors! Thus enemies!" the boy responded back almost immediately, slightly abashed for not considering the possibility of traitors in Las Noches. But his shame nearly faded as he saw the Novena's face. The dark eyes of his master were no longer focused on him, but on the four other Fraccion behind him. The youth craned his neck back to view those very four, whose hands were clenched upon their blades ... the faces clearly displaying guilt ... and fear.
"What does an enemy ... deserve?" the Novena asked, his voice once again a soothing tune. The corners of his mouth pointed into a dastardly smile. And it was that question, with the specific emphasis on the last word, along with this facial expression ... that the boy and the other Fraccion realized what was going on.
"... Death ..."
His quiet response was immediately overwhelmed by the furious yells that roared from behind him. But it was not matter ... they were only Gillians after all. And with his master's will and wish to be their death, he did not hesistate. A century years worth of conditioning to fight, to obey, to kill ... had primed this child into a deadly living weapon, even without a Zanpakuto to call his own.
The first Fraccion to approach the loyal servant had his blade wrenched out of his hands, while they were shattered from a direct kick into them. But before this one could let the whole world know his pain, he was decapitated with a single swipe. The second one attempted to use the body of his dead comrade as a means of defense, but this failed as a horizontal column of destructive energy, golden like the light of the artificial sun in Las Noches, blasted forth and incinerated the corpse and the victim. The third never even got a chance to approach his enemy, as his skull and the organ within was impaled by a sword of his own dead comrade.
The boy, calmly standing in the dust that had been produced by his cero, had taken advantage of the enemy's decreased sight to 'head-shot' him. And now that only left the fourth and the last one, whose body betrayed the ferocious snarl he had on his face, as his clammy hands fumbled his own blade ... and let that fall to the floor. Once it had stricken the ground, and the metallic clash resounded, he was already dead. A hand imapled right through where his heart was once beating. And the boy stared into those eyes, a small smile derived from the pleasure of stamping out scum spread across his fair complexion.
With a fluid motion, he removed his hand from the chest of his foe ... taking one last longing look into those now lifeless eyes. A pang in his stomach tempted him to start to devour the corpse, but the applause coming from behind him urged otherwise.
"Bravo ... Bravo. O dear boy ... I think it's no longer right for me to not allow you to be amongst the numeros any longer." the Novena commented in a giddy manner, as he reached into the droopy left sleeve of his jacket, and pulled out a ... sword. A simple small blade with a white scabbard. "Hmm. I don't think 'boy' is an appropriate name for you any longer. Don't you agree? From this day on, you will be one of the numbered soldiers of Las Noches ... which means you'll need an appropriate name. Hn hn hn ... Skull ... no ... Bone? Non ... Marr- ... ah!
I've got it, kid. Merrow ... Merrow Miuzerra? Eh? How's that sound? (Hmm ... Merrow-kun ... ah hah hah ha, I hope he doesn't mind that name)"
The child ... no Merrow. He didn't mind that name. ... Merrow.
Merrow Miuzerra looked at his master with a curious look. He was being presented with a zanpakuto? But where had that come from? His confused gaze did not go unnoticed however, as the Novena immediately reassured him that this was Merrow's own blade ... and that the he, the Novena, took it for safe-keeping until a day would come when Merrow could make the best use of it.
Black-haired Merrow hesistated a moment, despite seeing this as a wonderful opportunity ... was it going to be worth it? Would claiming his sword usher in a life he wanted? An ever constant war with enemies abound, that would be the cause of absolute chaos? Despite his reasoning and clinging moral 'righteousness' his long lost human days, his instinct and current mind set found such 'problems' ... to be delightful.
"Of course. Merrow is fine, sir." he said calmly, after having already advanced forward, and taking ahold of the sword.
There was a graveyard in Las Noches. Not that there were any corpses, but it was all for sentimentality's sake. The grave of all Numerous, Espada, and Privaron existed in this place, each one receiving an honorary tombstone for them. But now, it had fallen slightly in obscurity ... and few people knew of this place.
Merrow Miuzerra, now Fraccion to the current Sexta espada, gazed down on one particular stone. An old battered stone, with signs of obvious decay and destruction ... as it had crumbled mostly to pieces, and eroded so that the name was mostly faded.
"How are you? Master?" Merrow inquired in amused tone, his mouth now curved into a calm smile, reminscient of the former Novena.
"I hope you're doing well ...
and I think, if you were still alive ... you'd be happy right now." he commented, that calm smile taking a more devilish twist.
That was Merrow's last visit to that place, the last time he'd think about his master. For he now had other pressing matters at hand, as that visit was made a month before the arrancar of Las Noches declared an all-out war against all realms of existence. That very war that rages on. A war long desired by the deceased Novena, whose desire was passed on to Merrow.
/END SAMPLE.
Innate Ability: -preservación- An ability that is a passive and usually non-combat skill. Merrow's bodily fluids(specifically his saliva, but he has yet to try his blood or such), can fossilize certain bodily remains of spiritual beings ... most commonly, their bones. Generally, when a spiritual being is killed, all traces of them - their remains, their clothing, etc. - vanish with them. Merrow's ability allows him to preserve the bones of his enemies so that they DON'T fade away. There is no known side-effect to the soul in question who has had its remains preserved by Miuzerra's ability.
Granted, it's a near-worthless ability, but seeing as he loves to eat his opponents alive the ability to save their remains which he can crunch and munch on happily away until it is ground into dust is fair enough. This ability can also apply to severed limbs. And thus an arm or a leg or two can be saved up and stashed away.
Basic point, his drool hardens the bones and preserves them to be his chew toys until he crunches them into itty-bitty pieces with his teeth and swallows them.
-Miscellaneous info-Due to influences from Merrow's human life (Socratic Philosophy, Wisdom, and Knowledge), seeks to learn in whatever free time he has that is NOT related to causing mayhem. Thus, random unqualified 'experiments' are his other means of passing time. Due to being a Fraccion to a former scientist, he has some skill in tinkering ... though he usually makes bombs.
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Subject: Merrow Miuzerra(Finished) 
Wed 04 Nov 2009, 6:53 am
