Basic Information
Last Name: Misado
Age: Twenty-Three
Ethnicity: Half Japanse, Half American
Eye Color: Emerald Green (Gold Tinting in the middle, much like a sunflower)
Height: 4'11
Weight: 112 lbs
Race: Human
Date of Birth: May 11th
Occupation: Assassin
Sexuality: Demisexual
Personality
The worst flaw a person can have is that of self-deception. Misado was like that. She acted on impulse and then created the reason for her actions after the fact. If she was feeling good she did good things, if she was feeling negative in any way she did bad things. She felt like her good deeds meant she was a good person and her bad deeds were justified. In truth she never thought before she acted or spoke, she never stopped to ask herself if her response was the right one, or merely the first knee-jerk reaction that sprung to mind. Whatever she said was almost never true, or at least it was only "true" for her.
She was a lonely soul, longing for friends, yet her temperament was her down downfall. She would just snap like a twig and a raging hatred was unleashed. This drove people away from Misado. The way she could just snap at them, and tear them verbally to shreads. It was sad, almost. But her interpertation of people leaving her life so quickly was that it was their fault. Nothing she did wrong. This ended up leading her to come to the conclusion that all people really cared about was themselves. Their result of everything, the way the ended up. In her mind, humanity was a cruel race, and how disgusting it was for her to have to associate with it.
After years of being alone, she conviniced herself she would die alone, a spinster, perhaps with lots of cats, like an old, mad cat-lady. Who lived in a bungalow and never wore purple like the poem; and never brushed her hair, and wore old, unwashed rags that stunk of cat litter, and watched cat documentaries; and maybe practised witchcraft in her free time.
That, in Misado's mind, was her own future. She wasn't exactly what you might call an "optimist".
She was, of course, as self-centred as a child. For her the world that mattered stopped at the tip of her nose. Most came to think of her as emotionally blind, she just couldn't see, couldn't empathize with what other people thought or felt. And isn't the unknown always a bit scary? She treated everyone like they were too frightening to get close to. She interacted of course, she laughed and joked, she would even make nice gestures from time to time. But ask her a personal question and she would recoil faster than a snapped high-tension spring. After that you'd be in her no-friend zone for a while, isolated until you learned your lesson.
Backstory
Misado was born on an American Military base, in Tokyo Japan. The half Japanese, half American army brat made her first acquaintance with death at the age of nine. It was at that age she witnessed the death of her parents at the hands of Japan's most ruthless yukuza boss.
Wide green eyes had lurked under her parents bed that tragic night. After her parents had heard the shattering of the glass, the assured her to climb under there, and don't make a sound, no matter what. At the time, while she had been filled with fright, she never thought her father could be taken down. It didn't take long for a group six men to burst through the door, and all her father had to use to take them down was his own barehands.
Her mother was quickly grabbed and held by the hands of two large men, and all Misado could do was watch in fright. Her father charged at two of them, one of them taking a good punch at the man's face, causing his nose to overflow with blood the instance it happened, a loud crack being heard. But her father still had the advantage, as he came to around a large, six-foot-one and he managed to take down both of them. Just as he managed to smash one of their faces in the ground, a smaller man drove a samurai sword right into the male's side, causing him to fall to the floor - meeting eye to eye with young Misado.
She had whimpered, and covered her mouth quickly at the sight, before all that left her father's mouth was a groan of disbelief, then the sword was ripped from his side, then drove inward his chest cavity. She saw all the carnage after that, and she could hear her mother begin to wail.
Her small, five-foot mother stood no chance now, and was grabbed by her long, silky black hair and thrown to the bed.
Now the burly man, the ringleader, had climbed to his feet, from the arm chair - first crushing out his cigar for the most part - then the thinner male would offer his sword to him. Only a moment later, the girl had listened as a terrified scream engulfed her ears, and then the sword was droven right beside Misado's head.
The blood quickly saturated the mattress, forming droplets and hitting her face. Hot tears streamed from the nine year old's eyes. The girl had begun to whimper, before softly uttering the word, "Mommy. . ." As she muffled her sobs.
With an abrupt amount of laughter, the group of males were gone. But not before the thin male had shot the glass of liquor, then kicked the nightmarish man's nearly put out cigar, engulfing the room in flames.
After she was sure they were gone, she escaped the burning building with only a few minor burns. As she watched the house burn to the ground, her face stayed with her own mother's blood, she had swore revenge.
Lucky for her, the yakuza Boss was a pedophile.
At eleven, she got her revenge. It didn't take long for a small, short-haired girl dressed in a school girl outfit to be lead into the old man's apartment. He undressed, and she was quick to climb onto the male in a teasing fashion, before noticing his samurai sword.
"What's this?" Misado had asked, innocently, picking up the sword in a childish fashion. After sliding off the sheath, she would lift it up, dragging her finger across the blade.
"I use it so I may protect you, little one," he said, and she could feel the male's erection press against her tender flesh. With that, she would lift the sword high above the male, the tip position downward, and she would drive the blade deep into his chest cavity, but missing any vital areas on purpose.
Lifting it after getting no answer, except for a few grunts of displeasure, as it was clear he's never experienced such a feeling. Blood soaked her hair, droplets hitting her face much like that night that lurked in her memory so long ago.
By twenty, she was one of the top female assassins in the world.
Misado eyes are like a child's water-colour painting, how in their haste to paint all the grass they add too much water to the green and it comes out that subdued shade.
It's almost like washed out green, like she's cried too many times and the colour ran.
She's frequently jostled due to her lack of height, but that's because she doesn't weigh much more than a child. Unlike a child there is no Mom or Dad to pull her away and instead she has to deal with the pushes and shoves herself.
Misado has short, dark hair that only comes to about mid neck. She rarely does much with it, besides tussling the curls every now and then.
Appearance
Misado eyes are like a child's water-colour painting, how in their haste to paint all the grass they add too much water to the green and it comes out that subdued shade.
It's almost like washed out green, like she's cried too many times and the colour ran.
She's frequently jostled due to her lack of height, but that's because she doesn't weigh much more than a child. Unlike a child there is no Mom or Dad to pull her away and instead she has to deal with the pushes and shoves herself.
Misado has short, dark hair that only comes to about mid neck. She rarely does much with it, besides tussling the curls every now and then.
She is quite a curvy young thin, and can easily be scooped up, but that only is used as an advantage over time, due to the fact she's quite flexible.
