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OOC Information
IC Information
Name: Jess
Timezone: ET
Journal:N/A
Player Contact: thebelligerent (plurk/skype)
Timezone: ET
Journal:N/A
Player Contact: thebelligerent (plurk/skype)
IC Information
Name: REINER BRAUN
Canon: ATTACK ON TITAN
Gender: MALE
Age: 18
History: Warning: this character’s history contains fairly significant spoilers for his canon.
soldier in the streets | warrior in the sheets
(Deviation from canon since Attack on Titan hasn’t yet concluded: Sometime shortly after most recent canon events, Reiner is captured by the Survey Corps and dies while being tortured for information.)
Personality: A valiant young man whose life has been forged by the political ambitions of others and tempered by the violence and bloodshed of war, Reiner is a natural leader and the ideal soldier to many. To others, he is a coward and a traitor.
Both of these outlooks are true.
Reiner is very friendly and mostly outgoing, described by many as the ultimate big brother type. He is a powerful protector and keeps those close to him well-defended by the strength of his devotion. He understands people in a way that allows him to provide for their needs selflessly while still looking at the big picture, keeping everyone working together in a seamless unit, strengthened by bonds he works hard to set and maintain between himself and between others in his community.
However, he is at the core very ashamed of what he perceives to be his own selfishness and insecurity, and his own treachery toward those who have stood with him as brothers and sisters in arms, and the weight of this shame and guilt have caused him to compartmentalize his actions, projecting them onto separate “personalities”: the soldier, who lives the lies for him without the guilt, and the warrior, who is a much more complete picture of Reiner and everything he really is. Eventually in life, as he became closer with those he would have to betray, the “soldier” personality became more dominant, allowing him to distance himself from the idea that he would have to someday kill them all.
In the time spent away from the Survey Corps, he has been slowly regaining the parts of himself that comprise “the warrior,” and the “soldier” has been surfacing less and less but may still be called upon as a defense mechanism when needed.
He is intelligent, although he doesn’t wear this on his sleeve, preferring to express this via actions, but occasionally does not have much of a filter when it comes to speaking to others...
Powers/Abilities: Reiner is a titan shifter, capable of turning himself into the Armored Titan (although in Monad he is scaled down somewhat in size to a max of about twelve feet tall). In this form, he is capable of hardening his skin to be impenetrable, which acts as both an offensive maneuver (making him essentially a battering ram) and as his main defense against attacks. In addition to this, the Armored Titan is also superhumanly strong and can run very fast for short bursts.
Reiner himself is a particularly strong and adept soldier, good at both the physical and mental aspects of combat.
Keepsakes/Mementos: 3DMG harness, Bertholdt’s dogtags, blood.
Sample: (Warning for extended torture scene, although it’s not particularly graphic.)
By his best estimate, it had been 47 days since they had captured him.
It had been 47 days since he had seen the sun.
47 days since he had seen Bertholdt, 47 days since the final time their lips would touch, and he pressed his blood-flecked ID tags into the palm of Bertholdt’s warm hand.
And 47 days since he had told him the lie, “You run. I’ll cover you and we’ll meet back up after I kill them all.”
He hadn’t meant it to be a lie, but even words borne out of the most well-intentioned hopes could be twisted into the ugliest of lies by nothing other than circumstance or a lifetime of bad luck.
Maybe he hadn’t realized the limits of his own strength or skill. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, because that would have meant that he wouldn’t be able to protect Bertholdt forever, wouldn’t be able to be with him forever, meant changing so many of his sweetest late night promises into the cruelest of lies.
If he wasn’t forgiven for it, that was something he deserved.
He had managed to kill a good dozen of them before he succumbed to his injuries, wounds from their encounter with soldiers the night before slowing him down and making it impossible to draw on the most formidable of his powers. He had blacked out from blood loss eventually, a bear-like roar erupting from the depths of his chest as he went down, ripping the arm out of a corpsman’s socket as he fell, rivers of blood gushing from his fingers where he gripped the blade that had been turned on him.
When he woke again, he had been bound and placed in a dark holding cell somewhere the light never touched, the location of which he could not ascertain. His wounds had been cleaned and dressed expertly and were on their way to healing, as best he could tell. By his estimate, based on the way the skin pulled at the scabbed-over flesh on his ribs when he inhaled and exhaled, he had been unconscious for maybe two days. The air was dead there, stale and oppressive and reeking with the scent of human waste and decay.
Death would have been a more welcome fate.
43 days ago, they started the questioning. They had let his wounds heal, they had fed him; they made sure his body was strong again. At first they were diplomatic about it, promising him a better life if he only he would tell them everything he knew, anything he knew. He was silent, and he said nothing.
39 days ago, his silence had continued, and the diplomacy had stopped.
First they beat him. Meals came only sporadically after a few days of starvation, and every time he was fed, he was beaten savagely until even the thought of food brought phantom pains from imaginary blows. Kept tightly immobile, in case he tried to end his own life, he could feel his body deteriorating rapidly, muscles eating away at themselves for any kind of nourishment for the body. Any kind of strength.
When beating did not produce the information they wanted, 29 days ago, they had started torturing him. Small things at first, hot irons against his skin. Still he was silent, and still his will did not bend. His thoughts were only of Bertholdt, who he knew was out there, alive. He would find a way to escape and live, and find him again. He would keep his promise.
His captors progressed to worse things, dislocating bones, slowly crushing joints, dripping water slowly on his face to simulate drowning, closing his windpipe to the verge of suffocation then letting him come back to consciousness only for it to happen all over again. And again.
And again.
Slowly they took things from him. A fingernail here, a toe there. A clinical, systematic dismemberment. One guard had the audacity to tell him it was for science, and no doubt they were performing tests on everything they could. They made sure nothing was to get infected; he was to be kept alive as long as possible, so that maybe once he had been broken down, they would have the information that they wanted.
And still, he did not speak; they could not break him, and no matter what else they took, they could not take his heart, and no matter what else they crushed, they could not crush his will.
Days passed even more quickly, or did they? Two days ago he told himself in a fevered euphoria that he would never bend, no matter how long they kept him here.
It was another lie.
And a day ago, when they shone a lantern in his cell, light glinting on something small and metal dangling loosely from the fingers of one of his captors, he recognized his own dogtags, and he broke.
He burst free of his bonds in that moment; his body had wasted away to the point that they were no longer tight and could no longer hold his rage…but he tried to run and he couldn’t, and he tried to shift and he couldn’t. His opportunity was there but his will was gone, the energy ebbing from his body with ragged sobs. As his captor ran for reinforcements, another life was taken that night by Reiner Braun, traitor to humanity.
His own.
He bit his own tongue clean off, and as he bled out and everything went grey, he thought of Bertholdt, and how finally he would tell no more lies.
Mindset: Due to the nature of Reiner’s mission, he had always been prepared for the likelihood that he would die. That monad represents what appears to be a fresh start for the afterlife, unburdened by everything he was forced to carry while living, death even comes as a bit of relief. His thoughts focus mostly on his friends (particularly Bertholdt Hoover…), but he keeps up the optimistic hope that they are either alive, successful in their mission, or if they do die, they will be able to join him in his new start here.
Reiner remembers most of the circumstances of his death, except that he has blocked out ever seeing the dogtags he gave to Bertholdt in the hands of his captors. The memory is there, just suppressed, and in time it may be remembered.
G̶̶l̨͡i̵͢t̷c͝͠h̕é͠s̷̷͡: Reiner has seen Some Shit, and he has been through Some Shit, so while he is not bothered by many aspects of horror and gore, he does suffer from PTSD regarding certain sensations similar to the torture he endured. He also suffers from the occasional dual personality, created as a defense mechanism toward the stresses and incredible burdens of his mission. The easiest way to get to him is preying on his memories of Bertholdt or his other friends, or to play into his guilt.
Canon: ATTACK ON TITAN
Gender: MALE
Age: 18
History: Warning: this character’s history contains fairly significant spoilers for his canon.
soldier in the streets | warrior in the sheets
(Deviation from canon since Attack on Titan hasn’t yet concluded: Sometime shortly after most recent canon events, Reiner is captured by the Survey Corps and dies while being tortured for information.)
Personality: A valiant young man whose life has been forged by the political ambitions of others and tempered by the violence and bloodshed of war, Reiner is a natural leader and the ideal soldier to many. To others, he is a coward and a traitor.
Both of these outlooks are true.
Reiner is very friendly and mostly outgoing, described by many as the ultimate big brother type. He is a powerful protector and keeps those close to him well-defended by the strength of his devotion. He understands people in a way that allows him to provide for their needs selflessly while still looking at the big picture, keeping everyone working together in a seamless unit, strengthened by bonds he works hard to set and maintain between himself and between others in his community.
However, he is at the core very ashamed of what he perceives to be his own selfishness and insecurity, and his own treachery toward those who have stood with him as brothers and sisters in arms, and the weight of this shame and guilt have caused him to compartmentalize his actions, projecting them onto separate “personalities”: the soldier, who lives the lies for him without the guilt, and the warrior, who is a much more complete picture of Reiner and everything he really is. Eventually in life, as he became closer with those he would have to betray, the “soldier” personality became more dominant, allowing him to distance himself from the idea that he would have to someday kill them all.
In the time spent away from the Survey Corps, he has been slowly regaining the parts of himself that comprise “the warrior,” and the “soldier” has been surfacing less and less but may still be called upon as a defense mechanism when needed.
He is intelligent, although he doesn’t wear this on his sleeve, preferring to express this via actions, but occasionally does not have much of a filter when it comes to speaking to others...
Powers/Abilities: Reiner is a titan shifter, capable of turning himself into the Armored Titan (although in Monad he is scaled down somewhat in size to a max of about twelve feet tall). In this form, he is capable of hardening his skin to be impenetrable, which acts as both an offensive maneuver (making him essentially a battering ram) and as his main defense against attacks. In addition to this, the Armored Titan is also superhumanly strong and can run very fast for short bursts.
Reiner himself is a particularly strong and adept soldier, good at both the physical and mental aspects of combat.
Keepsakes/Mementos: 3DMG harness, Bertholdt’s dogtags, blood.
Sample: (Warning for extended torture scene, although it’s not particularly graphic.)
By his best estimate, it had been 47 days since they had captured him.
It had been 47 days since he had seen the sun.
47 days since he had seen Bertholdt, 47 days since the final time their lips would touch, and he pressed his blood-flecked ID tags into the palm of Bertholdt’s warm hand.
And 47 days since he had told him the lie, “You run. I’ll cover you and we’ll meet back up after I kill them all.”
He hadn’t meant it to be a lie, but even words borne out of the most well-intentioned hopes could be twisted into the ugliest of lies by nothing other than circumstance or a lifetime of bad luck.
Maybe he hadn’t realized the limits of his own strength or skill. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, because that would have meant that he wouldn’t be able to protect Bertholdt forever, wouldn’t be able to be with him forever, meant changing so many of his sweetest late night promises into the cruelest of lies.
If he wasn’t forgiven for it, that was something he deserved.
He had managed to kill a good dozen of them before he succumbed to his injuries, wounds from their encounter with soldiers the night before slowing him down and making it impossible to draw on the most formidable of his powers. He had blacked out from blood loss eventually, a bear-like roar erupting from the depths of his chest as he went down, ripping the arm out of a corpsman’s socket as he fell, rivers of blood gushing from his fingers where he gripped the blade that had been turned on him.
When he woke again, he had been bound and placed in a dark holding cell somewhere the light never touched, the location of which he could not ascertain. His wounds had been cleaned and dressed expertly and were on their way to healing, as best he could tell. By his estimate, based on the way the skin pulled at the scabbed-over flesh on his ribs when he inhaled and exhaled, he had been unconscious for maybe two days. The air was dead there, stale and oppressive and reeking with the scent of human waste and decay.
Death would have been a more welcome fate.
43 days ago, they started the questioning. They had let his wounds heal, they had fed him; they made sure his body was strong again. At first they were diplomatic about it, promising him a better life if he only he would tell them everything he knew, anything he knew. He was silent, and he said nothing.
39 days ago, his silence had continued, and the diplomacy had stopped.
First they beat him. Meals came only sporadically after a few days of starvation, and every time he was fed, he was beaten savagely until even the thought of food brought phantom pains from imaginary blows. Kept tightly immobile, in case he tried to end his own life, he could feel his body deteriorating rapidly, muscles eating away at themselves for any kind of nourishment for the body. Any kind of strength.
When beating did not produce the information they wanted, 29 days ago, they had started torturing him. Small things at first, hot irons against his skin. Still he was silent, and still his will did not bend. His thoughts were only of Bertholdt, who he knew was out there, alive. He would find a way to escape and live, and find him again. He would keep his promise.
His captors progressed to worse things, dislocating bones, slowly crushing joints, dripping water slowly on his face to simulate drowning, closing his windpipe to the verge of suffocation then letting him come back to consciousness only for it to happen all over again. And again.
And again.
Slowly they took things from him. A fingernail here, a toe there. A clinical, systematic dismemberment. One guard had the audacity to tell him it was for science, and no doubt they were performing tests on everything they could. They made sure nothing was to get infected; he was to be kept alive as long as possible, so that maybe once he had been broken down, they would have the information that they wanted.
And still, he did not speak; they could not break him, and no matter what else they took, they could not take his heart, and no matter what else they crushed, they could not crush his will.
Days passed even more quickly, or did they? Two days ago he told himself in a fevered euphoria that he would never bend, no matter how long they kept him here.
It was another lie.
And a day ago, when they shone a lantern in his cell, light glinting on something small and metal dangling loosely from the fingers of one of his captors, he recognized his own dogtags, and he broke.
He burst free of his bonds in that moment; his body had wasted away to the point that they were no longer tight and could no longer hold his rage…but he tried to run and he couldn’t, and he tried to shift and he couldn’t. His opportunity was there but his will was gone, the energy ebbing from his body with ragged sobs. As his captor ran for reinforcements, another life was taken that night by Reiner Braun, traitor to humanity.
His own.
He bit his own tongue clean off, and as he bled out and everything went grey, he thought of Bertholdt, and how finally he would tell no more lies.
Mindset: Due to the nature of Reiner’s mission, he had always been prepared for the likelihood that he would die. That monad represents what appears to be a fresh start for the afterlife, unburdened by everything he was forced to carry while living, death even comes as a bit of relief. His thoughts focus mostly on his friends (particularly Bertholdt Hoover…), but he keeps up the optimistic hope that they are either alive, successful in their mission, or if they do die, they will be able to join him in his new start here.
Reiner remembers most of the circumstances of his death, except that he has blocked out ever seeing the dogtags he gave to Bertholdt in the hands of his captors. The memory is there, just suppressed, and in time it may be remembered.
G̶̶l̨͡i̵͢t̷c͝͠h̕é͠s̷̷͡: Reiner has seen Some Shit, and he has been through Some Shit, so while he is not bothered by many aspects of horror and gore, he does suffer from PTSD regarding certain sensations similar to the torture he endured. He also suffers from the occasional dual personality, created as a defense mechanism toward the stresses and incredible burdens of his mission. The easiest way to get to him is preying on his memories of Bertholdt or his other friends, or to play into his guilt.
