DEVIL'S BACKBONE: Original Tokyo Ghoul Role-Play

Full Version: Wake up Mad Doc: Time to work [Odin]
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Iiza lost track of the days quickly. The time she spent awake slid by in a painfully sluggish slither. When she got bored she would sleep, but always wake up to a nightmare she couldn't recall. Everytime she woke it would be just as busy, but never the same light. She was only bothered by a nurse delivering food when she woke and another cleaning and changing her and her room. She had started trying to remember how to sit up, how to reach out and pull herself. How to order muscles to hold their positions rather than fall when gravity gently lowered her. The other was a doctor that kept trying to tell her to do things, but she hated his face and always refused.

"Lift you arm." or "Here, try this pudding. I promise its good."

He was persistent. Every time she seemed alert and always right after the food was delivered. She counted it a few times. Fifteen seconds exactly, from when the nurse left to his cheery entrance. She would always watch him carefully, but never speak or react till he got ready to leave. Then she'd repeat all the opposites of the actions, in reverse order. He'd always smile and scribble in his notepad, then add some encouraging words. As time went on she begun actually practicing what he told her. Never when he was there, but gradually relearning how to live. The opposite game became their little joke.

But today's she's been awake for almost ten minutes, no food, no doctor. She begins to worry. Had she played too much? Her sapphire eyes scan the windows, and eye the door. Ever so carefully she tried her lessons from yesterday. She carefully grabs the handles on her bed and slowly works the muscles to a sitting position. The muscles working like she was told to tell them. For a moment she's surprised they hold her in place. Feeling accomplished she gently scoots back to rest against the backboard.

Her room is small, a bed, side table, and a few machines to monitor her. The rest is moved in and out by the nurses when the doctor needs something special for a lesson. One wall has a window along most of it, the door and more window is on the other. She was lucky to get a window room with a view out on the city. Today a few more shiny machines occupy the room with her, and the nurse that came to clean her added a bit of color to the sheets and even gave her some clothes to wear. She new something special was today, but she couldn't for the life of her guess what.


A MAN CAN BE DESTROYED, BUT NEVER DEFEATED. I WILL NOT GO GENTLY INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT.
“R-Room 307, third f-floor, t-to the l-left”

Stuttered the young receptionist on the lobby of the CCG-Sponsored hospital. She was a young thing, a pretty little lady with big eyes and probably a smile that could put men younger than him onto their knees when it wasn’t that shaky. The place was state-of-the-art, as most of Chiyoda’s facilities were, the fortress of humanity required the best for the people the CCG protected after all. Hospitals like this were the ones field agents ended into when a wound ran deeper than a simple cut or fracture. If they could survive the trip to Chiyoda, they’d probably survive the wound.

It was really no wonder the poor girl was a shivering mess, Odin’s gait was that of a giant among the Asians, standing at least a head higher than most around him. But what clearly set fear and respect among those strangers that casted disbelieved glances at his suited form, was the legend that followed him, the weight of his own reputation. For a decade, the king in the castle had barely left his Tower, but now he was here, Chiyoda’s King, Hanzo Kaneda.

He nodded briefly at the girl, stern face constantly fixed on a stoic mask, scars and wrinkles crisscrossing the old face, a piece of black shrapnel protruding from his forehead like a crude obsidian horn, a lone blue eye accompanied by nothing more than a black eye-patch covering where its twin once resided.

Eyes followed him as he walked with firm step towards the elevator and remained on him until its doors closed. All men and women present with enough age to comprehend the magnitude of the personality they just managed to witness releasing a breath they weren’t sure they were holding.

The White Wolf, meanwhile, took his time to fix his sleeves and collar, a habit acquired after many years of repetition. The suit was as grey as ash, neat and professional, buttoned up, only revealing part of the pristine white dress-shirt beneath and of his tie, blue as the ocean. The dress shoes were polished to the point their black was glistening and reflecting the light, the old watch, a sturdy thing with a leather strap, its lens cracked yet still functional resting firmly on his flesh and bone wrist, biological hand marked with both scars and aging. On the other side, rested his bionic hand, a construct of sleek, red metal, replacing the limb he lost long ago.

Both the hand and the mechanic brace that held on of his knees together whirred smoothly and silently as he moved, the constructs technically augmented him, but Hanzo would trade them in a heartbeat if he could get his old hand again if only for a moment.

But it was not the time to think about his own health and what-not, war tore men apart, he had been lucky they had managed to piece him back together, as imperfect as it was. As long as he could still move, he could still fulfill his duty.

And today, this girl was his duty.

Duty had not been kind to her, like it hadn’t been to him or to countless others, but she was CCG and a valuable asset at that.

An effort had to be taken.

Stepping out of the elevator with certain step, Hanzo traversed the hall silently, looking for the door. Once it was found, the numbers 3, 0 and 7 shining with a blue hue from the electronic display. The old man steeled himself for anything that might await him as he gently knocked on the door with his old yet strong knuckles and proceeded to gently push the door open.



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She snaps her attention toward the door as it's knocked, and stares as it's opened. The man that enters is staggeringly large. Their size comparison making her shrink even more in the size of the bed. She doesn't recognize him, but something about him demands not only respect, but attention and awe. She opens her mouth to say some angsty retort to the intrusion, but stops. Some tribal, gut feeling shuts her up. She puts on a opened mouth smile and looks inquisitively.

The colossal man swirls in her empty head. A glimpse in her mind of the nightmare. His face looking sadly down at her. He was there, but she can't tell when. Was he the one to took everything from her, or did he find her. She works it over in her head, but can't find the truth. An idea pops into her head. She'll have to guage the kind of person he is. She not sure how, but she knows she'll have to try.

She recovers after a few moments and waves about like she's seen them do on the tv. She clears her throat and tries a "hello" With a weak voice. Almost like wind in the reeds. Its an odd voice. But one that works miracles to a subject burning with the pain of constant tourture. It almost seems to soothe the aches of machinery fused to flesh. Her eyes imminently wander toward the replaced limb. A look that asks if it hurts flicks up toward his eye. Her own eyepatch is on the table. She doesn't like to wear it.

The little doctor's eye is almost sparkling with intelligence and wit. A cleverness that seems to beg to be useful again. There's pain in those eyes, a need to get up and going again. It's clear she wants to learn, and what little she has rebuilt proves she can, to some degree. But its still impossible to tell if she'll ever be as good as she was, or able to deal with it. The mindset of a torturer is rare without them being a sadist. But perhaps there's still some doctor left, at the very least.


A MAN CAN BE DESTROYED, BUT NEVER DEFEATED. I WILL NOT GO GENTLY INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT.
Ah the young Iizabella, a little genius brought from abroad to aid the war-effort, like so many others. And like so many others before her, Ghoul-kind had left its mark on her. The scar wasn’t pretty, breaking through her soft features like a deep gash on an exquisite painting, her eye was lost, replaced by an empty void and scarred tissue.

Then again, she should count herself lucky, her head was not lost by a miracle. Truth be told, he didn’t think she’d survive when he first found her on one of the Cochlea’s interrogation rooms, her cranium punctured and her lifeblood oozing like a fountain, eyes still filled with life and pained panic as her body entered shock.

But he had to give it to her, she endured, a survivor by all means. Her movements and voice are fickle things, shy gestures of meekness, a far cry from what she used to be. He was warned of this, the file on the table beside her bed should have more complete information of her calamity. A gentle scoff escapes his bearded face, silver hair with age slicked back upon his skull. Her blue orb wanders, towards his artificial hand, holding a metallic suitcase, full of bumps and scratches, but still sturdy, still whole, the Howler can still bite. The eyes are gentle, the look concerned, Kaneda offers something few ever get to see: a gentle smile, a slight creasing of the aged lips.

She reminded him of a child in this state, a blank slate ready to be influenced. But behind the blue of her eyes, Hanzo’s gaze could still catch the trail of mirth and wit, so not all was lost then. With gentle step, Odin moves through the room, setting himself on a simple chair beside her bed, letting his weapon rest on the floor and taking the file on the table with careful precision.

Before anything however, he’ll humor her on one thing. With a simple, elegant yet still rough movement, the old man’s eye-patch is removed and set beside her own on the table. Odin’s eye is not gone, a large scar running through old war dog’s face and eyelids, the skin around the eye pink and punished. The orb has lost its light, bloodshot and blank where there was once bright blue, grey contrasting with the sapphire on the other side.

The file is opened.

Iizabela Emilia Rikenburg” the voice is hoarse with age, but still strong and still commanding “That is your name” It is not a question, but a statement.

He looks up at her.

Do you know who I am?



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TEMPLATE © ZODIAQUE OF DECADENCE
Her eye widens as the first real information is given to her. Iizabella. It's a good name, distinct. It held hints of french, but changed to be 'original'. Stolen and repurposed, loosing some refinement. American. She's not sure where the idea came from, but it felt to fit. As she tumbled the names in her head she worked purpose from them. It started with a nice flow, Iizabella Emilia, but the harsh last name broke the illusion. Rikenburg. A german name. A lifetime of stereotyping has some residual effect. Each name coming with a nation. It would humor her had she memory of her past. Something to off put, something to sooth, and immediately followed by harsh efficiency. The way the man says it solidifies it in her mind without her wish. Of course it was her, had she protested she would be a fool. She lightly nods her acceptance of the name before scanning him up and down.

He acts gentle, but carries himself with force and power. A man not to be trifled with. The face flickers to the bloody night. He was there, but was he him? She can't decide. Was he deciding who she was for her gain, or to hide his evils and steal her alignment. Should she answer now it would be known for sure. It would be easy to shake her head, let the question linger. But if it was him she'd have to battle her own future loyalty and affections. She sits quiet for a second. She could offer both to see how he'd respond. The way he deflected or laughed it off. She's know even if he lied. She slowly reaches up to touch her hollow dent of a ruined eye. Then down to her chest as the second option rolls out.

"did you took? Or saved"

She looks a bit frustrated at how the words came out, but it's roughly what she meant to say. It would still be telling. She scans him carefully, having leaned on her side to watch him sit. Recording any twitch or tell. She would never be grateful enough to her family for imburing her with the skill of detection. Obviously they didn't try to teach her, but being raised by and for con artists and gamblers grows on you. She might've thanked them had she ever really thought it out before loosing it. Those skills had put her through school and her transfer to Japan. It had been what got her the job she was born to do. It might do it again someday soon. As she waited the few short breaths before an answer she prepared herself for the results. Plotting out the pressure points and major blood vessel clusters as if she saw them projected on his skin, prepared to dismantle him before the robotic hand could crush her tiny form. The other side searching for the destroyed emotion centers, gathering what little they had at their disposal.


A MAN CAN BE DESTROYED, BUT NEVER DEFEATED. I WILL NOT GO GENTLY INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT.
Odin is an old war hound, he has lost his eye, his knee, his arm and things way more dear than that. His bones are old, but his nose is still sharp, he knows how to watch, how to observe, how to tell truth from lies, a lifetime of hunting down Ghouls will do that to you, teach you how to spot wolves among the sheep.

Age had treated this one well, saw like a wee lass instead of a full-fledged woman, an eye big and charming and soft features that might enchant men younger than him. Before she was a savant, a genius well versed in the art of mending and inflicting pain, an asset to the cause. Now? He’s here to find that out. Her words are answer enough, she does not remember, but is she lost? Has the war taken that which made her special?

Troubling thoughts.

The blue of her orb shines with an unspoken accusation and Odin offers a dry chuckle, the fact that she refused to answer his question does not remain unnoted.

Saved is a strong word miss, the doctors here saved you” A pause “Find is what I did. I found you

Pages are flickered, blue passing over the words. Family history, career choices, psychological evaluations.

Tell me, how much do you remember?



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Iiza leaned much less than she'd hoped from his answer. He's not foolish enough to stumble into truth of any kind. He dodges and gently redirects in effortless motions. Answering the question asked while keeping the hidden question frustratingly unanswered. Obviously one cannot be expected to keep the same level of skill after such an accident as one part of her hoped. She's finding herself actually missing undertones and tells. Failing to spot the little diamonds of information. That piece of her, what might be the last true piece of the real her finds itself with much less control over the rest. Already a fondness has begun to grow, as well as an unrestrained curiosity as an eye flicks to the file.

It'd be the easiest way to remember. Just one glance and she's know all the missing bits. She couldn't fathom why they wouldn't let her see it. Didn't know that the act would only break her more. The small piece of her suddenly realized she wasn't as clever as she'd fought so desperately to remain. It was all gone, all her years of perfecting her art. All the time spent buried in books or pacing around individuals as they cried for the pain to end. All she had left was a haze of a shadow of what she was and the rest seemed no better than a child.

Iizabella's heritage was filled with lucky folks that looked young well into their thirties or early forties. She herself was just on the edge. Light wrinkles and other small signs. She had been very proud of her appearance. The crispest uniform on inspection day so her unorthodox, but regulation smile would be passed without question. A stainless smock before and after a days work. She's spend hours on it, and a small fortune on the products to support the look. Now she looked closer to her age. Her time spent without ideal exfoliation or gentle maintenance causing her wrinkles to stand out like a topographical map. Her bags under her eyes dark and plain on her face. Her face is barely suppressed awe at the large man.

"thank you..."

She gives with a slight bow when he admits his assistance. The small piece hating how altogether honest she is. It knows the quest for truth is going to be even harder now. As her eye floats over the file he holds she begins to root through her brain. There's precious little and its scattered thoroughly.

"well..."

She physically flinches as her brain violently refuses to let something back into conscious thought. Her eyes stay screwed shut for a while till whatever horror hides back in he subconscious.

"there... you? n'd suma..."

She keeps er eyes shut, concentrating on remembering. For a long while she stays like that, till a disappointed.

"dunno..."

Her eyes fill with the look of a child who's failed some task they deemed all encompassing.


A MAN CAN BE DESTROYED, BUT NEVER DEFEATED. I WILL NOT GO GENTLY INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT.
He accepts her thanks (and unspoken apology) with grace, a small bow of the head to answer her own. Mismatched eyes focused on her frame, expectant, a big part of his decisions when he left this place would be influenced by the extent of the damage done to her.

She tries at least. Eyes closed and face crunched up as Rinkenburg attempts to summon a memory, any memory.

But alas, the world for the most part isn’t fair. Hanzo’s long years have taught him that, great heroes, men and women better than him, innocents slain and yet he was the one to survive after so long. Her following expression resembles that of a defeated puppy, leagues away from the quick-witted, rather mischievous woman from the past.

It’s okay dear” he reassures, her current circumstances are not her fault, she was but one of many victims, at least she survived.

What happened to you was…quite unfortunate. A rather grim accident I’m afraid

A pause, a short meditation for the next action as he closes the file, he’s seen enough.

Now as for my previous inquiry…” he begins, fishing his ID and badge from his pocket as he holds them before the bedridden girl “I’m Hanzo Kaneda, Counter Commission Ghoul’s King of the Chiyoda branch here in Tokyo



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Iizabella has been growing more tense, her calculating mind being pushes aside by this childish fear. She doesn't know what awaits her, and the not knowing lets her brain go wild. Random pictures of horrific punishments shifting one after another through her brain. Pictures from her past life that managed to stay merely because they haunted her so heavily back then. Her justifications had quelled their torment before, but now they can make her suffer for her actions.

She hides the torment well, but the way she grips the sheets and squeezes her jaw give her away. Her eye searches his face shifting from scar to scar, begging them to keep her mind off the images. As he speaks of the accident and how its not her fault she lets the words clatter about in her brain. His deep voice circling over and over as she tries to analyze the inflections and wording. It helps a bit, letting her ignore the scene that blasts its way past her conscious mind like a train.

Her own voice is lost in the cacophony, enough that she almost yells. Thankfully a yell from her is barely a raised voice from most others. It merely takes on a shrill edge and for once is audible without strain.

"c-can you tell? am aloud to hear?"

The smart half of her knows they won't do anything to her, so keeping the other distracted is the principal goal. Keeping herself sane is the only thing that really matters now, right in this moment. She can tell its breaking down, so her attempts to weasel information will have to be sidelined.

Her words come immediately after the man finishes talking, but the name isn't lost, just added after.

"King Hanzo." And a unsure bow. The title is lost on her, but the words are left to clatter about till they hit something they work with.


A MAN CAN BE DESTROYED, BUT NEVER DEFEATED. I WILL NOT GO GENTLY INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT.
Hm, as the King feared, progress on her memory seems to be of dire nature. With a curt nod he acknowledges her honor as he meditates on what’s to come now. A great talent indeed, that she was, but now? They wouldn’t be able to tell until they could test her on the field once more…that is, if she even returned to them willingly.

A deep breath is taken, time for business.

My organization, the CCG” intones the old man, firm and business-like, if she does not remember, he’ll have to remind her then. “Do you know who we are? What we do? Your part in our organization?

Hands are folded in his lap as he directs a sympathetic look to her own remaining orb, the blue probably swirling in doubt and confusion.

If you are not able to recall any of these things dear, don’t panic” He tells her, Kaneda’s tone more soft now, almost fatherly “I will enlighten you as much as you see fit



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