u/Full_Ordnance

[As stated in the title, I just want to learn more about as many people's characters. You don't have to, but it'd probably be more interesting on both sides for it to be in a narrative format instead of just a paragraph explaining details. Thanks for any responses, I'll be interested in reading as much of them as possible.]

As the title says, I have another character I'm getting more and more interested in being instead, which is an Old L Corp. Smoke War veteran turned Color Fixer, but I don't like the idea of giving up being a Ring Docent. I'm impartial to the idea of being both but I don't really know what to do exactly.

If you guys could help with any ideas, that'd help. Thanks.

[I shall note that this is a rather experimental recording I have taken through a modified camera, of which uses a lens made of the Mirror technology. Hopefully, I may study this fellow further to garner an idea of their combat abilities. Thank you - August\]

I start this audio log, Number… No. It shan’t matter. As I always state, these audio logs remain to record my thought processes as I work through my latest opus.

. . .

Throughout my most shameful life, I have studied under many art forms.

In my early years, as a fledgling long before I have reached the point I am in, I aimed to mimic the Impressionist school, of which made rounds at the time in my area.

I failed at that.

All that came out was a flat mockery of what I attempted to recreate.

Day after day, I saw my own failures

and failure alone.

O, what a shame I was at that time.

It was, until, I remember clearly, that it was brought to my attention,

I need not to attempt the standard.

At the time, a fellow Student pointed out to me a new impression.

We were admiring together a self-portrait of a Maestro.

They saw, in their own eyes, that a late Maestro’s self portrait was, in fact, a ghost.

I didn’t entirely disagree on that matter, but it awakened something new within me.

I, from then on out, painted outside the norm.

I painted outside the niceties of the world.

‘Do you love the City you live in?’

A rather common question, but one many would answer with a resounding:

“No.”

I, myself, would agree the same, may it be from my fear of those others called ‘human’ or my own experience here.

But through this statement, I learned I need not to attempt to dampen this impression of the world.

I took to my room and painted for days on end.

I made sure to hide these works from any visitors until completion.

Except him, of course.

I’d like to thank you, Takeichi.

That is why I dedicate this latest work to you.

Ah, I digress too far just yet. I will come back to this.

But, back in line, I painted these portraits, of which shook even me, day after day.

I dare not have them reviewed and displayed.

Not until Takeichi told me to attempt so.

Of course, I did as I always do, and did as one told me to.

Hm, more of a cold blush tone must be added here.

Either way, I did so.

When asked what I would call this, I buffered there.

With no idea in mind, I simply called it ‘Ghost Painting’ and ended it there.

They graded rather harshly, saying it failed to reach the Impressionist mark.

But…

They told, in a rather forgiving (and, in my opinion, a tad bit pedantic and rather patronizing way, as if I was a simple child who has shown their first drawing scribbled tastelessly in purple crayon on a paper), that another school fit me better.

The School of Expressionism, of which I currently reside.

O, how amazing my miserable life has been so far.

Ah, I truly need more paint.

Do mind any excess of noise outside of my voice here on out,

The collecting of materials is required.

. . .

Continuing on this recording, as of previous, I stand here and march on forth, collecting more material and paint for my latest work.

The sound of screams brings an odd sense of relief, but not joy like some others.

This relief comes from knowing that, deep down, a fear remains in all of us.

Except me, and perhaps, some others. For I (and by extension we) fear no death.

Even now, with all my achievements in my school, I heed no mind to the prospect.

In fact, one may call it a relief in a world that is a City filled only with suffering.

But I digress.

I have already written about this privately.

The main appeal of an Expressionist’s tools is the paint and ink of which we use in combat.

We, nigh alone, use something utterly moldable by our expression, by our emotion, by our sin.

Ah, will you shut it? I am trying to record a private log here and you are interrupting in pure and utter blatant rudeness.

Continuing, this paint changes color to match with one.

Changes form to match the emotion.

One’s hate and anger forms in new a spike-covered, sharp and tortuous tool, of which is only meant to inflict suffering and maim one till death, for example.

Hm, scraps. The lot of these are scraps.

Ah well, I will work with what I can.

. . .

Back in my lodging in the Corridor, I continue.

I (rather quickly, may I add) gained my second band on my ring.

I continued on with my ‘Ghost Paintings,’ publishing them as a series.

Ah, what number was I at? 13 will be my next one, I believe.

I will make it special for such a stigmatized number.

Because it got a tad bland simply doing self-portraits from the depths of my own personal hell known as life,

I have also, on occasion, depicted others.

Perhaps I shall do a grand portrait this time around.

A landscape depicting the true suffering one must go through-

I am getting off track.

There is not much to talk of at the moment.

This piece, separate from ‘Ghost Paintings,’ is, as stated before, dedicated to Takeichi.

Do forgive, my not-so-dear friend, but you must bear witness to the rest of works.

Therefore, I title this ‘All-Seeing Eye,’ for you have watched me and noticed that which I wanted not to be noticed,

and I have watched you closely, as so you will not leak those secrets out to the world.

Therefore, it is only fitting for you to forever watch me make art forevermore.

It is not like you would have gotten any farther.

I saw your latest work, a rather disappointing dishevelment.

D+

I hope you may forgive me, dear fellow.

But, at least, I believe that stage is done for today.

Hopefully I will finish the rest of the undercoat tomorrow so I can move on to the true coloration.

I will end the recording here. I have to explain what happened to dear Takeichi, after all.

End recording.

[I shall note that this is a rather experimental recording I have taken through a modified camera, of which uses a lens made of the Mirror technology. Hopefully, I may study this fellow further to garner an idea of their combat abilities. Thank you - August\]

I start this audio log, Number… No. It shan’t matter. As I always state, these audio logs remain to record my thought processes as I work through my latest opus.

. . .

Throughout my most shameful life, I have studied under many art forms.

In my early years, as a fledgling long before I have reached the point I am in, I aimed to mimic the Impressionist school, of which made rounds at the time in my area.

I failed at that.

All that came out was a flat mockery of what I attempted to recreate.

Day after day, I saw my own failures

and failure alone.

O, what a shame I was at that time.

It was, until, I remember clearly, that it was brought to my attention,

I need not to attempt the standard.

At the time, a fellow Student pointed out to me a new impression.

We were admiring together a self-portrait of a Maestro.

They saw, in their own eyes, that a late Maestro’s self portrait was, in fact, a ghost.

I didn’t entirely disagree on that matter, but it awakened something new within me.

I, from then on out, painted outside the norm.

I painted outside the niceties of the world.

‘Do you love the City you live in?’

A rather common question, but one many would answer with a resounding:

“No.”

I, myself, would agree the same, may it be from my fear of those others called ‘human’ or my own experience here.

But through this statement, I learned I need not to attempt to dampen this impression of the world.

I took to my room and painted for days on end.

I made sure to hide these works from any visitors until completion.

Except him, of course.

I’d like to thank you, Takeichi.

That is why I dedicate this latest work to you.

Ah, I digress too far just yet. I will come back to this.

But, back in line, I painted these portraits, of which shook even me, day after day.

I dare not have them reviewed and displayed.

Not until Takeichi told me to attempt so.

Of course, I did as I always do, and did as one told me to.

Hm, more of a cold blush tone must be added here.

Either way, I did so.

When asked what I would call this, I buffered there.

With no idea in mind, I simply called it ‘Ghost Painting’ and ended it there.

They graded rather harshly, saying it failed to reach the Impressionist mark.

But…

They told, in a rather forgiving (and, in my opinion, a tad bit pedantic and rather patronizing way, as if I was a simple child who has shown their first drawing scribbled tastelessly in purple crayon on a paper), that another school fit me better.

The School of Expressionism, of which I currently reside.

O, how amazing my miserable life has been so far.

Ah, I truly need more paint.

Do mind any excess of noise outside of my voice here on out,

The collecting of materials is required.

. . .

Continuing on this recording, as of previous, I stand here and march on forth, collecting more material and paint for my latest work.

The sound of screams brings an odd sense of relief, but not joy like some others.

This relief comes from knowing that, deep down, a fear remains in all of us.

Except me, and perhaps, some others. For I (and by extension we) fear no death.

Even now, with all my achievements in my school, I heed no mind to the prospect.

In fact, one may call it a relief in a world that is a City filled only with suffering.

But I digress.

I have already written about this privately.

The main appeal of an Expressionist’s tools is the paint and ink of which we use in combat.

We, nigh alone, use something utterly moldable by our expression, by our emotion, by our sin.

Ah, will you shut it? I am trying to record a private log here and you are interrupting in pure and utter blatant rudeness.

Continuing, this paint changes color to match with one.

Changes form to match the emotion.

One’s hate and anger forms in new a spike-covered, sharp and tortuous tool, of which is only meant to inflict suffering and maim one till death, for example.

Hm, scraps. The lot of these are scraps.

Ah well, I will work with what I can.

. . .

Back in my lodging in the Corridor, I continue.

I (rather quickly, may I add) gained my second band on my ring.

I continued on with my ‘Ghost Paintings,’ publishing them as a series.

Ah, what number was I at? 13 will be my next one, I believe.

I will make it special for such a stigmatized number.

Because it got a tad bland simply doing self-portraits from the depths of my own personal hell known as life,

I have also, on occasion, depicted others.

Perhaps I shall do a grand portrait this time around.

A landscape depicting the true suffering one must go through-

I am getting off track.

There is not much to talk of at the moment.

This piece, separate from ‘Ghost Paintings,’ is, as stated before, dedicated to Takeichi.

Do forgive, my not-so-dear friend, but you must bear witness to the rest of works.

Therefore, I title this ‘All-Seeing Eye,’ for you have watched me and noticed that which I wanted not to be noticed,

and I have watched you closely, as so you will not leak those secrets out to the world.

Therefore, it is only fitting for you to forever watch me make art forevermore.

It is not like you would have gotten any farther.

I saw your latest work, a rather disappointing dishevelment.

D+

I hope you may forgive me, dear fellow.

But, at least, I believe that stage is done for today.

Hopefully I will finish the rest of the undercoat tomorrow so I can move on to the true coloration.

I will end the recording here. I have to explain what happened to dear Takeichi, after all.

End recording.

[I shall note that this is a rather experimental recording I have taken through a modified camera, of which uses a lens made of the Mirror technology. Hopefully, I may study this fellow further to garner an idea of their combat abilities. Thank you - August\]

I start this audio log, Number… No. It shan’t matter. As I always state, these audio logs remain to record my thought processes as I work through my latest opus.

. . .

Throughout my most shameful life, I have studied under many art forms.

In my early years, as a fledgling long before I have reached the point I am in, I aimed to mimic the Impressionist school, of which made rounds at the time in my area.

I failed at that.

All that came out was a flat mockery of what I attempted to recreate.

Day after day, I saw my own failures

and failure alone.

O, what a shame I was at that time.

It was, until, I remember clearly, that it was brought to my attention,

I need not to attempt the standard.

At the time, a fellow Student pointed out to me a new impression.

We were admiring together a self-portrait of a Maestro.

They saw, in their own eyes, that a late Maestro’s self portrait was, in fact, a ghost.

I didn’t entirely disagree on that matter, but it awakened something new within me.

I, from then on out, painted outside the norm.

I painted outside the niceties of the world.

‘Do you love the City you live in?’

A rather common question, but one many would answer with a resounding:

“No.”

I, myself, would agree the same, may it be from my fear of those others called ‘human’ or my own experience here.

But through this statement, I learned I need not to attempt to dampen this impression of the world.

I took to my room and painted for days on end.

I made sure to hide these works from any visitors until completion.

Except him, of course.

I’d like to thank you, Takeichi.

That is why I dedicate this latest work to you.

Ah, I digress too far just yet. I will come back to this.

But, back in line, I painted these portraits, of which shook even me, day after day.

I dare not have them reviewed and displayed.

Not until Takeichi told me to attempt so.

Of course, I did as I always do, and did as one told me to.

Hm, more of a cold blush tone must be added here.

Either way, I did so.

When asked what I would call this, I buffered there.

With no idea in mind, I simply called it ‘Ghost Painting’ and ended it there.

They graded rather harshly, saying it failed to reach the Impressionist mark.

But…

They told, in a rather forgiving (and, in my opinion, a tad bit pedantic and rather patronizing way, as if I was a simple child who has shown their first drawing scribbled tastelessly in purple crayon on a paper), that another school fit me better.

The School of Expressionism, of which I currently reside.

O, how amazing my miserable life has been so far.

Ah, I truly need more paint.

Do mind any excess of noise outside of my voice here on out,

The collecting of materials is required.

. . .

Continuing on this recording, as of previous, I stand here and march on forth, collecting more material and paint for my latest work.

The sound of screams brings an odd sense of relief, but not joy like some others.

This relief comes from knowing that, deep down, a fear remains in all of us.

Except me, and perhaps, some others. For I (and by extension we) fear no death.

Even now, with all my achievements in my school, I heed no mind to the prospect.

In fact, one may call it a relief in a world that is a City filled only with suffering.

But I digress.

I have already written about this privately.

The main appeal of an Expressionist’s tools is the paint and ink of which we use in combat.

We, nigh alone, use something utterly moldable by our expression, by our emotion, by our sin.

Ah, will you shut it? I am trying to record a private log here and you are interrupting in pure and utter blatant rudeness.

Continuing, this paint changes color to match with one.

Changes form to match the emotion.

One’s hate and anger forms in new a spike-covered, sharp and tortuous tool, of which is only meant to inflict suffering and maim one till death, for example.

Hm, scraps. The lot of these are scraps.

Ah well, I will work with what I can.

. . .

Back in my lodging in the Corridor, I continue.

I (rather quickly, may I add) gained my second band on my ring.

I continued on with my ‘Ghost Paintings,’ publishing them as a series.

Ah, what number was I at? 13 will be my next one, I believe.

I will make it special for such a stigmatized number.

Because it got a tad bland simply doing self-portraits from the depths of my own personal hell known as life,

I have also, on occasion, depicted others.

Perhaps I shall do a grand portrait this time around.

A landscape depicting the true suffering one must go through-

I am getting off track.

There is not much to talk of at the moment.

This piece, separate from ‘Ghost Paintings,’ is, as stated before, dedicated to Takeichi.

Do forgive, my not-so-dear friend, but you must bear witness to the rest of works.

Therefore, I title this ‘All-Seeing Eye,’ for you have watched me and noticed that which I wanted not to be noticed,

and I have watched you closely, as so you will not leak those secrets out to the world.

Therefore, it is only fitting for you to forever watch me make art forevermore.

It is not like you would have gotten any farther.

I saw your latest work, a rather disappointing dishevelment.

D+

I hope you may forgive me, dear fellow.

But, at least, I believe that stage is done for today.

Hopefully I will finish the rest of the undercoat tomorrow so I can move on to the true coloration.

I will end the recording here. I have to explain what happened to dear Takeichi, after all.

End recording.

[I shall note that this is a rather experimental recording I have taken through a modified camera, of which uses a lens made of the Mirror technology. Hopefully, I may study this fellow further to garner an idea of their combat abilities. Thank you - August]

I start this audio log, Number… No. It shan’t matter. As I always state, these audio logs remain to record my thought processes as I work through my latest opus.

. . .

Throughout my most shameful life, I have studied under many art forms.

In my early years, as a fledgling long before I have reached the point I am in, I aimed to mimic the Impressionist school, of which made rounds at the time in my area.

I failed at that.

All that came out was a flat mockery of what I attempted to recreate.

Day after day, I saw my own failures

and failure alone.

O, what a shame I was at that time.

It was, until, I remember clearly, that it was brought to my attention,

I need not to attempt the standard.

At the time, a fellow Student pointed out to me a new impression.

We were admiring together a self-portrait of a Maestro.

They saw, in their own eyes, that a late Maestro’s self portrait was, in fact, a ghost.

I didn’t entirely disagree on that matter, but it awakened something new within me.

I, from then on out, painted outside the norm.

I painted outside the niceties of the world.

‘Do you love the City you live in?’

A rather common question, but one many would answer with a resounding:

“No.”

I, myself, would agree the same, may it be from my fear of those others called ‘human’ or my own experience here.

But through this statement, I learned I need not to attempt to dampen this impression of the world.

I took to my room and painted for days on end.

I made sure to hide these works from any visitors until completion.

Except him, of course.

I’d like to thank you, Takeichi.

That is why I dedicate this latest work to you.

Ah, I digress too far just yet. I will come back to this.

But, back in line, I painted these portraits, of which shook even me, day after day.

I dare not have them reviewed and displayed.

Not until Takeichi told me to attempt so.

Of course, I did as I always do, and did as one told me to.

Hm, more of a cold blush tone must be added here.

Either way, I did so.

When asked what I would call this, I buffered there.

With no idea in mind, I simply called it ‘Ghost Painting’ and ended it there.

They graded rather harshly, saying it failed to reach the Impressionist mark.

But…

They told, in a rather forgiving (and, in my opinion, a tad bit pedantic and rather patronizing way, as if I was a simple child who has shown their first drawing scribbled tastelessly in purple crayon on a paper), that another school fit me better.

The School of Expressionism, of which I currently reside.

O, how amazing my miserable life has been so far.

Ah, I truly need more paint.

Do mind any excess of noise outside of my voice here on out,

The collecting of materials is required.

. . .

Continuing on this recording, as of previous, I stand here and march on forth, collecting more material and paint for my latest work.

The sound of screams brings an odd sense of relief, but not joy like some others.

This relief comes from knowing that, deep down, a fear remains in all of us.

Except me, and perhaps, some others. For I (and by extension we) fear no death.

Even now, with all my achievements in my school, I heed no mind to the prospect.

In fact, one may call it a relief in a world that is a City filled only with suffering.

But I digress.

I have already written about this privately.

The main appeal of an Expressionist’s tools is the paint and ink of which we use in combat.

We, nigh alone, use something utterly moldable by our expression, by our emotion, by our sin.

Ah, will you shut it? I am trying to record a private log here and you are interrupting in pure and utter blatant rudeness.

Continuing, this paint changes color to match with one.

Changes form to match the emotion.

One’s hate and anger forms in new a spike-covered, sharp and tortuous tool, of which is only meant to inflict suffering and maim one till death, for example.

Hm, scraps. The lot of these are scraps.

Ah well, I will work with what I can.

. . .

Back in my lodging in the Corridor, I continue.

I (rather quickly, may I add) gained my second band on my ring.

I continued on with my ‘Ghost Paintings,’ publishing them as a series.

Ah, what number was I at? 13 will be my next one, I believe.

I will make it special for such a stigmatized number.

Because it got a tad bland simply doing self-portraits from the depths of my own personal hell known as life,

I have also, on occasion, depicted others.

Perhaps I shall do a grand portrait this time around.

A landscape depicting the true suffering one must go through-

I am getting off track.

There is not much to talk of at the moment.

This piece, separate from ‘Ghost Paintings,’ is, as stated before, dedicated to Takeichi.

Do forgive, my not-so-dear friend, but you must bear witness to the rest of works.

Therefore, I title this ‘All-Seeing Eye,’ for you have watched me and noticed that which I wanted not to be noticed,

and I have watched you closely, as so you will not leak those secrets out to the world.

Therefore, it is only fitting for you to forever watch me make art forevermore.

It is not like you would have gotten any farther.

I saw your latest work, a rather disappointing dishevelment.

D+

I hope you may forgive me, dear fellow.

But, at least, I believe that stage is done for today.

Hopefully I will finish the rest of the undercoat tomorrow so I can move on to the true coloration.

I will end the recording here. I have to explain what happened to dear Takeichi, after all.

End recording.