Post by feliciano on Feb 10, 2012 20:45:56 GMT -5
:cyborg:
:basic:
Name: Feliciano Vargas
Age: 20
Nationality: Italian
Birthday: March 17th
Cybernetic Alterations/Enhancements:
RIGHT + LEFT LEG
[/u]:basic:
Name: Feliciano Vargas
Age: 20
Nationality: Italian
Birthday: March 17th
Cybernetic Alterations/Enhancements:
RIGHT + LEFT LEG
Both of Feliciano's legs are cybernetic prostheses, completely replacing the limbs from the waist down. They're surgically integrated with his skeletal structure- the legs each have an artificial ball joint that fits into the sockets of his pelvis to make them meld more 'naturally' with the body they're attached to. Working off a combination of hydraulic and pneumatic systems and operated by electrical impulses from Feliciano's nervous system (the entire system is waterproofed to prevent any volatile reactions), the cybernetics look remarkably similar to human legs without skin, given that the muscles are fibers and nano-tubes and the bones are titanium alloy. Feliciano has a full range of motion with his legs- he can stand on his toes or his heels with no effort, and he can manipulate his toes just as easily as he can move his fingers, making them perfectly human in functioning capabilities- if not more than human.
The high quality of his cybernetics gives Feliciano superhuman abilities- he can not only sprint much faster than a normal human and for a nearly infinite amount of time (thanks to lactic acid buildup no longer being a factor), but his legs are astoundingly resilient, absorbing massive amounts of shock with little strain and also allowing him to kick someone with such force that it easily shatters bone- though Feliciano is much more likely to use his kick to force his door open when he accidentally locks his key inside his house.
He's very hesitant to use his legs in any sort of aggressive manner despite their killing potential- not only does he not want to cripple someone, but the repair costs for even a single frayed wire or torn nano-tube are astronomical.
Why?: His legs are prostheses implemented several months after a complete traumatic amputation from a car accident- they were damaged beyond any hope of reattachment, and so the only alternative for Feliciano was to spend his life legless in a wheelchair.
Occupation: Owner and and head chef of a restaurant in the western sector known as Il Lupo. The establishment is odd in that it's hybridized- while it's set up like a traditional Italian bar and offers the same sort of finery as one, it also caters to patrons seeking more of a universal dining experience- it's just as easy to get an espresso (Italian, of course, none of that American nonsense) and run out the door as it is to sit and enjoy a multiple-course dinner.
Upper, Middle, or Lower Class?: Upper, largely due to his family's power and the uncomfortably large amounts of money he often gets wired to him by distant relatives.
Attitude Towards Bots?: Very, very positive. Feliciano sees bots as equal to humans and will treat a bot as he would a fellow man, though he often becomes distressed at the sight of lower-end bots and their lack of humanity. This even extends to his religious convictions- Feliciano whole-heartedly believes that bots have souls, even if others will call him crazy for it.
Appearance: Feliciano stands at about 5'8"- not terribly tall, but Feliciano'd prefer not being intimidating anyway. He's oddly fair-skinned compared to the image of a stereotypical Italian, largely thanks to inheriting Germanic ancestry from his mother, which also contributes to his hair color- an almost fiery auburn, the slightest contrast to his amber eyes. Feliciano tends to keep his hair fairly short and well-kept, though during the summer and the winter he often lets it grow down to his shoulders- the only consistency in his hairstyle is an odd curl that sticks out of the side of his head at an angle, and Feliciano can't tame it no matter how hard he tries- so he simply stopped trying several years ago.
He has a rather lithe build- that of a runner, not a wrestler- though his weight is actually deceptive. His artificial legs are very lightweight, meaning that if one so much as picks him up, they'll probably figure out something's off about Feliciano very quickly.
His paranoia about his status as a cyborg affects Feliciano's choice of clothing severely- he does his best to cover as much of himself as he possibly can, and uses the excuse of being more used to the climate of Italy. Not only does he attempt to hide his legs, but Feliciano's paranoid about shielding his torso due to massively disfiguring scars littering his abdomen from the accident that took his legs. In hot weather, instead of finding more suitable clothing, Feliciano will often just opt to stay inside, hiding his insecurities behind the infectious smile he wears almost permanently on his face.
Likes
[x] ART: Art has always been an escape for Feliciano- a sort of self-administered therapy. He's absolutely brilliant at drawing and painting, though he's never shown his works, and he has an astounding singing voice as well. Feliciano used to play the piano, but after losing his legs he's rather hesitant to do so, wondering if robotic feet can really handle the pedals with the right sort of gentleness. Oddly enough, Feliciano bought a baby grand piano to put in his house anyway.
[x] READING: Feliciano loves reading. He loves looking into the mind of an author and trying to see the world from their point of view, and he has a massive library of books- especially old Roman works and musings from authors of the Italian Renaissance- and one of the things Feliciano often occupies himself with is reading through several volumes in one sitting.
[x] COOKING: Really, this goes hand-in-hand with the fact Feliciano loves eating. Not only does he enjoy getting to reward himself with good food for working hard to make it, but there's nothing quite like getting to see the look on somebody's face when they've eaten something delicious.
[x] SNOW: Feliciano often lived in snowy parts of Italy near the Alps, and so he became rather fond of snow- to this day he adores it, especially since he'll get nowhere near a pool or the ocean after getting his legs amputated. If he gets his clothes soaked through from fooling around in a snowdrift, so be it- it's fun enough to Feliciano to be worth it.
[x] NAPPING: Oddly enough, the man's made such a hobby out of napping that if he doesn't nap, he'll be distressed and irritable- sleeping is the only time that Feliciano dares to undress himself, as he's unable to fall asleep unless he's absolutely naked.
[x] RUNNING: If art's not working for Feliciano, he'll often leave his house and go running- for blocks. For miles. If he needs to get his mind off of something he'll run with reckless disregard for those who might notice that no unmodified human could run that fast- needless to say, Feliciano wears out running shoes very quickly.
Dislikes
[x] CARS: Or any sort of motor vehicle, really. Feliciano's aversion to them can range from a mild discomfort to a near-hysterical fear depending on the situation, and despite knowing how to drive a car, he'll never get inside of one or anything that looks like one- he walks everywhere instead.
[x] VIOLENCE: Feliciano knows very well what kind of violence plagues human society- after all, he escaped from his family to avoid watching (or God forbid, committing) violent acts against another human being. Feliciano does believe in defending oneself, however- even if that means killing another human being.
[x] CORRUPTION: Of governments, of groups, of individuals- Feliciano hates seeing people be corrupted by wealth or power, and while it's difficult for Feliciano to bring himself to hate somebody, he can at the very least disdain those who are obviously corrupt.
[x] BEING ALONE: The only reason Feliciano doesn't hide inside of his house forever is because despite his own fears and anxieties, he craves human contacts- he craves idle chat with a person or a warm hug from a visiting family member, and there's nothing Feliciano can do in isolation to replicate that warm feeling of being recognized- of being noticed, or, hell, even being loved.
[x] HOSPITALS: A bit of a given. His initial stay after the car accident that disfigured him for life wasn't fun by any means of the word, and the only times Feliciano has returned were for maintenance and for painful surgical 'adjustments'- he doesn't like the atmosphere of a hospital, he doesn't like what goes on there, and he doesn't like the fact that in many cases, going there means his legs are going to be easy for the entire world to see.
[x] CRUELTY: Feliciano has seen very well how some people treat bots. Being 'upper class' has led to him meeting some of what he considers to be the most despicable people on Earth- he's seen his family treat bots as disposable tools who can easily be replaced when worn out, and that's something that aggravates the Italian so immensely, it's one thing that he will take extreme action against if he finds it necessary. Cruelty towards any other is abominable in Feliciano's eyes- whether they're human or not.
Strengths
[x] CREATIVE: Feliciano isn't just an artist and a cook who can add a unique spin to many bland recipes- he has a very sharp sense of ingenuity about him. If trapped, Feliciano will be the one to find a way to escape- if cornered, Feliciano will be the one to find a way to fight back. He can just as easily come up with a clever place to hide a gun as he can come up with a perspective to paint from, and it's almost terrifying that one as apparently air-headed as the Italian can so easily think outside of the box.
[x] KIND: Feliciano can make friends very easily. He has a sort of sweet charm about him that can sway influences quickly, and with a bit of effort he can try to win over anybody- from a poor farmer to a rich socialite. He may not be able to win a fight with brute force, but he can certainly stop a fight from happening in the first place with a few well-chosen words.
Weaknesses
[x] INSECURE: Feliciano is a very insecure man, and his concerns have made him suffer in many areas of his life. He's never allowed himself to fall in love because of his scars and his artificial limbs- he rarely engages in social activities, and often spends his days in places where he feels safe- a rather childish instinct, though one that he still acts on despite knowing very well it's only detrimental to him. In a way, he only hates himself more for it.
[x] COWARDLY: Feliciano carries a gun with him almost everywhere he goes. He sleeps with one by his bed, with another hidden in a pillow- he's afraid. Feliciano's likely to shy away from anything dangerous unless it's one of the rare occasions where he will viciously follow his convictions and go through with it with all the valor of a warrior- and being as rare as those occasions are, Feliciano's not reliable when it comes to fighting or physical aggression. He may save a woman from being mugged or a child from kidnappers, but if offered the chance to go confront the robbers or confront the kidnappers, chances are he'll cower away. [/center]
:advanced:
Personality:
In a way, Feliciano's name seems to be a summary of his personality- happy, lucky, blessed in every sense of the word with charming looks and wealth. At first appearances Feliciano is very kind and accommodating to all people, never batting an eye at differences that might taint the actions of others. Feliciano's rather pure in this sense- he will treat everybody he sees as equally as he can, and if he can do something to help somebody who he believes is in need, he will go far out of his way to assist them.
He's very bubbly and optimistic, often going off into tangents about fine art or philosophy and talking about classical music while cooking food. He always keeps himself busy, which shows in how obsessive he can be over things. It's rather contradictory, actually- Feliciano himself is often carefree and messy when alone, but he tends to keep himself busy by dusting the house or washing the dishes- nothing bothers Feliciano more than being idle.
He's quite a ladies' man- not surprising considering his nationality- though Feliciano's insecurity is crippling. He's never gotten past a dinner date with a woman not only because he's afraid of anyone realizing he's a cyborg- but because he's not even sure he likes women in the first place. As odd or random an example as it may seem, that conundrum summarizes Feliciano's problems. He's all too willing to change himself to make somebody else happy, all too willing to suppress his own feelings and push aside his own happiness to make another person smile- trying to act like a suave heterosexual Italian all the time is just one facet of his over-eagerness to please.
He's surprisingly intelligent considering the happy-go-lucky, almost ditzy aura he gives off- Feliciano's particularly skilled when it comes to business, an odd sort of skill considering that Feliciano spends most of his free time painting, cooking, napping, or playing with stray cats. Feliciano often downplays his talents to try and keep attention off of him- not only is he a bit skittish and paranoid, but he's humble, and he'd rather not be taken seriously by a potential enemy than be seen as a threat- particularly a threat worth eliminating.
Feliciano's very loyal- once you've gained his trust, it's nearly impossible to lose it, and he's extraordinarily protective as well. He's afraid of losing things- of losing his grandfather, of losing himself, of losing his sense of security and any possible friends he makes- and so he clings rather tightly to them. He's well-aware of how dangerous his situation really can be- not only is he from a family that's hated, but Feliciano often travels through the 'poorer' sectors due to his circumstances. Some would call him brave or even a risk-taker--- but Feliciano is really just an optimist. He will always try to see the glass as half-full, no matter the situation, and he will always try to see the good in others- not the bad.
History:
The Vargas family had always had questionable practices- shady sources of income, worrying connections, and the tendency to make rivals disappear. In many ways they sounded like the stereotypical Italian clan of mafiosos drenched in corruption, adjusting their fedoras to hide their faces and smoking fine cigars while bargaining with a man for his life. It was a useful stereotype- in reality they were nothing like it. Feliciano Vargas was one of only two heirs to the family, the mighty patriarch being his grandfather. Little Feli never knew his parents- his father and mother were never mentioned, almost as if they had never existed in the first place.
Feliciano wouldn't have even known what the words 'father' and 'mother' meant had he not seen the outside world. He was raised by his grandfather during his young childhood, groomed and pampered like a prince. He learned very quickly to accept the fact that while his family wasn't 'normal' in structure by any means, they were still his family. There were cousins who stared at him with biting jealousy, uncles who sized him up to see if he was really prepared to grow up to fill the shoes of his grandfather when the time came. Feliciano remained ignorant to it all- in the end, as a young boy, he was rather sheltered.
As far as Feliciano was concerned, his grandfather was the most amazing human being in the world- he painted with him, sang with him, laughed and told him stories of Roman gods and Renaissance men, of lost love and the occasional one night stand, all with equal eagerness and equally truthful. Perhaps as a little boy he really couldn't comprehend the things he had been told- but he was told them with no sugarcoating, and he grew up eager to see the world, eager to see both its beautiful sights and its terrifying secrets. As far as he was concerned, everything would be an enriching experience- how would a spoiled, rich boy have known any better?
Feliciano was only eight when things changed quickly- his grandfather was busy with work, and staying in Rome was no longer an option- he had to travel, he said, he had to travel and make sure things were all right in other places. Suddenly Feliciano didn't stay with his doting grandfather- he moved around Italy every few months, uprooted as quickly as he grew used to the temper of whatever relative took custody of him. He learned very quickly how to please people of all kinds- how to be diligent and quiet, or how to be carefree and cheerful. Some uncles demanded he stop painting and singing and pursue more masculine things, and so he did, playing football with neighbors and other children. One aunt was quite convinced he was actually a girl- she'd always been a bit off in the head, they said, but she was the only option at the time- and he ended up quite all right with the idea of wearing dresses and learning the etiquette of a lady.
Feliciano was quite certain that he'd made nobody angry, and that he would be safe and live a happy life, still cheerfully unaware of- or perhaps just ignoring- the fact that his name made him an enemy to many people. Feliciano was thirteen when things finally went downhill. Just barely a teenager, he had been living in Ravenna for several months with a cousin who had ties to a local church- Feliciano was often sent to fetch things or go shopping for necessities, and he had become accustomed to obeying his cousin's order no matter what ungodly hour of the day it was.
21:45 on a Sunday. He never forgot that time, or that day. Feliciano was a creature of habit, and the streets he often crossed were usually old relics of Rome- bumpy and jagged, unfriendly to everything that could ever be considered traffic. So why be worried about a car? It didn't stop the car that roared down the road with the din of what Feliciano was sure belonged to a demon from hell- and the pain afterwards? He had surely been dragged into the pits by his legs with the fire that seared through every nerve--- and then there was nothing.
Feliciano never knew who found him. He never knew if the person driving the car ever stopped- or if, indeed, they ever meant to stop. All he knew was that when he woke up his legs were gone and he was in Venice- and his grandfather was back. He didn't know why his legs were gone- he was thirteen and had everything going his way. What was he supposed to think? What was he supposed to do when he couldn't even walk? The crash hadn't broken his back, but it had torn apart his torso, as if ripping his legs away from him wasn't enough of a punishment. His bright laugh was gone, the spark of his curiosity was smothered, and Feliciano was left a traumatized shell.
His grandfather took him home when he finally was cleared to return- but the young teenager still didn't speak. He sat in the wheelchair he'd been given, hiding the nightmarish reminders of the accident with a blanket- and he'd paint. He'd paint things he wished he could see, painted things that he knew he now wouldn't be able to see because he'd never be able to get up out of this chair and walk out of the house. His grandfather tried- God, did he try- but perhaps nothing short of a miracle would really fix Feliciano.
And his grandfather made a miracle happen. He told Feliciano little initially, simply assuring him that things would be better after this surgery- that it would certainly hurt a lot, but it would be a good thing, because if it hurt, it meant that it worked. He wanted to ask his grandfather just what he meant, but he never answered. He only received his answers after he suddenly found himself with legs.
For the first few weeks Feliciano was ecstatic- running around the house at every opportunity, laughing at the occasional odd noise from his newly fitted legs, and getting up every time he stumbled as he slowly got used to the fact that despite the fact he couldn't feel them, they were there.
His elation was short-lived. Feliciano's grandfather didn't care, of course, and if his relatives had any reservations about revolutionary technology giving him the chance to walk again, they held their tongues. It was when Feliciano remembered he would have to encounter his peers that he became paranoid. What would they think of him, half-robotic? Bots were a stigma in their area- inhuman machines, mockeries of God's creation, little more than glorified dolls- and yet Feliciano was already half-robot as far as he was concerned. Was he no better than a bot, then? Was he no better than these things that his classmates spat upon and laughed at?
He sobbed to his grandfather about his fears and his worries- and suddenly Feliciano found himself home-schooled, taught everything by his grandfather- and perhaps more than he ever would have in a building. He loved reading, loved learning, and loved the feeling of accomplishment when he came to a conclusion using his own knowledge- Feliciano was happy again, despite the fact that his legs haunted him, slowly gnawing away at his self-esteem- at his own integrity.
Seven years passed, and every birthday was celebrated instead by returning for more surgery, for more painful adjustment to accommodate his growth spurts. Seven years passed and the scars never faded, seven years of realizing how dark the world really could be and how viciously some people wanted his blood simply because he was a Vargas. He learned how to use a gun- learned the best places to hide them, received advice on what kind to use and what to do if he was disarmed. Beautiful Italia suddenly wasn't so beautiful. Feliciano loved his grandfather so dearly, despite the fact he was essentially groomed to become a monster.
The straw that broke Feliciano's back were the bots. There were always people in debt to some member of the family- people who had wronged a Vargas, people who had insulted a Vargas, people who had done nothing but look at one in the wrong way. All they had do was slip up, and suddenly they disappeared. Suddenly they disappeared, and uncanny clones of them ended up working in the houses of his relatives. It scared him. It scared the hell out of him.
Feliciano quickly told his grandfather he would be moving to Eishoff- after all, their family had no members in Antarctica- and his grandfather went so far as to give him a massive amount of money- a 'boost', a 'safety net', even. Feliciano offered no complaints and left as quickly as he could, setting up a small restaurant and hoping that would be the end of it- but his family had other ideas. Suddenly, he was their connection to Antarctica- Feliciano was receiving millions of dollars as 'favors' or 'gifts' from relatives in Australia, in America, in Italy- and he wondered how quickly it would be before their enemies found him, too.
Feliciano is trying to make a name for himself by his own efforts and his own labor- but it's difficult knowing that he's just a stray pup, and the pack of bloodthirsty wolves known as his family is lurking right behind him.
RP Sample:
They were always closed on Sundays. It was a rule, a ritual, a custom- no workers, no patrons, just him, the restaurant before him, and the coiling aisles of the wine cellar hidden below. Feliciano loved days like this, yes, slipping into the darkened building to tidy things up before Mass and coming back right after to finish up, but there was always something else about Sundays. Sundays were when they'd all call. Sundays were the days where Feliciano received greetings and blessings from relatives he'd scarcely met, days where they would fight for his favor- and he didn't want customers around when the phone so loudly rang every few minutes. Feliciano had only given out the number of the establishment to his grandfather- but his family had their ways. They found out very quickly just which number belonged to Il Lupo.
Diligently wiping down a table he'd already passed a good five times, Feliciano was jolted out of his ritual by the soft sound of a bell ringing, rather than the loud buzz of the phone by the bar.Oh no. He didn't lock the door, of all the things to forget to do when he was here alone on a Sunday--- this was the safest sector in Eishoff, but Feliciano was afraid of his name, afraid of the target it painted on his back, and he never knew when-
"Feliciano! Mio dio, you look as if the Lord himself just walked in!"
Feliciano knew that rough voice, knew the olive-skinned brawn that came with it, and blinked once before nervously chuckling his shock off. It was nice to see a regular visitor to the restaurant- but it was much nicer to have a regular who shared his background, one who traveled back to Italia on a regular basis and could update him on the status of his home.
"Giuseppe, I didn't know you were getting back from your trip so soon. Here, let me treat you- caffè doppio, si?"
There was an affirmative nod from the other and an appreciative smirk as Feliciano swiftly headed behind the bar, fetching a cup and preparing himself to go through his usual routine of preparing coffee- only to be interrupted.
"No, no, Feliciano, treat yourself. We're the only two here. Relax. You must not be at Mass for a reason, don't rush yourself."
...He had a point. Feliciano found himself almost defensively staring at the other man in response to his observation, though there was still a playful glint in his eyes as he instead pulled out another cup- it was the morning hours, so he would forgive himself for a cappuccino. There were only three things Feliciano really had a schedule to, but he enforced those schedules severely- offering a daily prayer, taking a siesta, and not having a cappuccino after noon.
"Family business, Giuseppe. I have calls I need to tend to, unfortunately- they all get very worried if I don't answer, you know, that sort of thing."
It was all too easy to just gloss things over, and the other man accepted the answer just as smoothly as Feliciano prepared their drinks- Giuseppe had treated himself to the table Feliciano had just wiped down, and so he pulled out a chair and sat opposite him, nervously crossing his legs- and praying that there was not so much as a creak or a hiss. For a brief moment, Feliciano stared out into the street, amber eyes trailing a group of college students- probably Americans, with the way they carried themselves, and with the way he could hear their boisterous laughter from inside the restaurant. Giuseppe took a few sips and followed his gaze.
"You're their age, aren't you, Feliciano? Why aren't you out there heading to college and enjoying your youth, eh?"
He spoke with an obvious experience- the experience of a man who worked on the docks, who traveled the world in trade ships and did grueling work for little reward, which made it that much harder for Feliciano to formulate a response.
"I'm... different from them, ve. I've always been the different type, so I think I'm better here in Eishoff making a name for myself as soon as I can, ve. I've never been the school type, you know? I wasn't smart. I just avoided university and headed down here instead."
He offered a small smile and shrugged. Feliciano would never have been able hide his differences in gym class, in locker rooms, anywhere in academia- if he moved down hallways eventually somebody would hear the harsh snap of a titanium joint that was stiff from the day before- eventually they would all catch on. He would rather things be like this, where he could hide it, spending days either by himself or back in the kitchen where odd noises were commonplace. The Italian's hands nervously reached up to fidget with his dress tie, tremors dancing in his fingers, and Giuseppe was apparently far more observant than he let on.
"If you're shaking that much maybe you shouldn't have any coffee, Feliciano, si?"
"It's... not that, Giuseppe. Don't worry. I just have a lot of things on my mind."
Feliciano waved a hand for emphasis, appearing to swat aside his insecurities as though they were loudly buzzing flies, even though his feet were incessantly tapping, the sound of his shoes on wood suddenly replaced by that one noise he dreaded so much more than any other.
Creak.
Diligently wiping down a table he'd already passed a good five times, Feliciano was jolted out of his ritual by the soft sound of a bell ringing, rather than the loud buzz of the phone by the bar.Oh no. He didn't lock the door, of all the things to forget to do when he was here alone on a Sunday--- this was the safest sector in Eishoff, but Feliciano was afraid of his name, afraid of the target it painted on his back, and he never knew when-
"Feliciano! Mio dio, you look as if the Lord himself just walked in!"
Feliciano knew that rough voice, knew the olive-skinned brawn that came with it, and blinked once before nervously chuckling his shock off. It was nice to see a regular visitor to the restaurant- but it was much nicer to have a regular who shared his background, one who traveled back to Italia on a regular basis and could update him on the status of his home.
"Giuseppe, I didn't know you were getting back from your trip so soon. Here, let me treat you- caffè doppio, si?"
There was an affirmative nod from the other and an appreciative smirk as Feliciano swiftly headed behind the bar, fetching a cup and preparing himself to go through his usual routine of preparing coffee- only to be interrupted.
"No, no, Feliciano, treat yourself. We're the only two here. Relax. You must not be at Mass for a reason, don't rush yourself."
...He had a point. Feliciano found himself almost defensively staring at the other man in response to his observation, though there was still a playful glint in his eyes as he instead pulled out another cup- it was the morning hours, so he would forgive himself for a cappuccino. There were only three things Feliciano really had a schedule to, but he enforced those schedules severely- offering a daily prayer, taking a siesta, and not having a cappuccino after noon.
"Family business, Giuseppe. I have calls I need to tend to, unfortunately- they all get very worried if I don't answer, you know, that sort of thing."
It was all too easy to just gloss things over, and the other man accepted the answer just as smoothly as Feliciano prepared their drinks- Giuseppe had treated himself to the table Feliciano had just wiped down, and so he pulled out a chair and sat opposite him, nervously crossing his legs- and praying that there was not so much as a creak or a hiss. For a brief moment, Feliciano stared out into the street, amber eyes trailing a group of college students- probably Americans, with the way they carried themselves, and with the way he could hear their boisterous laughter from inside the restaurant. Giuseppe took a few sips and followed his gaze.
"You're their age, aren't you, Feliciano? Why aren't you out there heading to college and enjoying your youth, eh?"
He spoke with an obvious experience- the experience of a man who worked on the docks, who traveled the world in trade ships and did grueling work for little reward, which made it that much harder for Feliciano to formulate a response.
"I'm... different from them, ve. I've always been the different type, so I think I'm better here in Eishoff making a name for myself as soon as I can, ve. I've never been the school type, you know? I wasn't smart. I just avoided university and headed down here instead."
He offered a small smile and shrugged. Feliciano would never have been able hide his differences in gym class, in locker rooms, anywhere in academia- if he moved down hallways eventually somebody would hear the harsh snap of a titanium joint that was stiff from the day before- eventually they would all catch on. He would rather things be like this, where he could hide it, spending days either by himself or back in the kitchen where odd noises were commonplace. The Italian's hands nervously reached up to fidget with his dress tie, tremors dancing in his fingers, and Giuseppe was apparently far more observant than he let on.
"If you're shaking that much maybe you shouldn't have any coffee, Feliciano, si?"
"It's... not that, Giuseppe. Don't worry. I just have a lot of things on my mind."
Feliciano waved a hand for emphasis, appearing to swat aside his insecurities as though they were loudly buzzing flies, even though his feet were incessantly tapping, the sound of his shoes on wood suddenly replaced by that one noise he dreaded so much more than any other.
Creak.
Feliciano wanted to get up out of his seat, to panic, to tell Giuseppe to go ahead and leave and that the floorboards were just very loose lately- but he wasn't sure whether to be more distressed by what he heard, or relieved. The other man's apparent response to Feliciano's distress was to casually laugh, even as the young man did indeed excuse himself.
He knew that Giuseppe's gaze was locked onto his legs, and he braced himself. What insults do they have for men who are half-machine in days like these? God, will I finally find out?
"...Those aren't your real legs, aren't they, Feliciano? You remind me of this old man who works on the loading dock- every time he bends over it sounds like he went and broke his hip with how awful that noise is, si? You have the same problem?"
...He didn't care. This man was just a regular at the restaurant who knew him through a bit of casual conversation and joking about Italy, and yet he didn't leave in revulsion, didn't interrogate him about the how and the why. He just... accepted it. And Feliciano felt his hands stop shaking, felt his heartbeat return to normal when it had been thundering only seconds earlier, and he quietly sat back down opposite his friend.
"...I try not to make a big deal out of it."
Thank God.[/quote]
:ooc information:
Name: Squishy. Or Greasy. God I don't even know anymore.
Age: 21
Time Zone (GMT +/-): GMT - 6:00
Experience: I've been roleplaying on forums for about ten years off and on. Pretty new to the land of Hetalia roleplaying.
Contact Information: I've got several messenger accounts and an email I check daily, a Skype, etc. Just let me know if you want any of my contact info, there's too much to list right here, haha.
