NOBUNAGA, BENJIRO MIRCEA

[benji]

Player's Name: Benji.
Other Characters: Nope.
Contacts: AIM- VisualKeiMonster
Random Fact: I like to party with Japanese bands \m/

Name: Benjiro Mircea Nobunaga
Alias: Benji, Ben-Ben, Benny
Age: 16
Birthday: 15 January 1960
Gender: Male.
Blood: Half-blood: half wizard, half vampire (though the ministry’s law might actually classify him as “part human and non-magical”, this is far from the truth).
Sexual Preference: Pansexual, actually.
Wand: Aspen, Augurey tail feather, thirteen and one half inches, springy.
Pet: Cat - Jasmine. She’s part kneazle - but looks more kneazle than cat. She’s a bit larger than your average domestic cat, and has a tassled tail with long, fluffy ears. Rosette spots cover her silver pelt.
Special Ability: None.


Year: Six.
House: Gryffindor.

Best Subject: Astronomy.
Worst Subject: Arithmancy - numbers make him dizzy.
Quidditch: Yes, he’s Gryffindor’s Keeper.
Patronus: Nope; he doesn’t know how to do one.


Hair: Reaching just to the small of his back and more like a giant, red bush than hair, Benji’s hair is something of a marvel. It stays large and matted no matter what his does, almost like a mane, and is literally fire engine red. The only thing that can straighten it out is loads of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion.
Eyes: Hazel.
Height: 5’11’’
Weight: 161lbs

{{DISTRUST;; LOYAL}}
“It’s a curse, but a gift: people are evil creatures and will do anything to hurt you, but they are genuine good and will give their hearts to see you smile. If you trust them, you fall, or you’re caught. But you don’t know who will catch you and who will drop you. I don’t need anyone to save me. My trust is reserved for those who are honest, and stick around for more than a few days. If you earn my trust, then maybe we’ll talk. And maybe I’ll give my everything for you.

If you’re looking for a relationship, it’s not likely. So don’t bother. I only give my life for my friends. I don’t do love. I don’t do that “your heart for mine” bullshit. Try it, and you’ll wish you never did. I promise it.”

Benji is not one for giving the key to his heart to just anyone who gives him a second glance. He’s heavily guarded. After all, if a boy can’t trust his own mother, then why should he trust even his closest friends? Much less desire to be close to any woman, any man who would offer promises of love and hand-holding? Though he does wish for it. Who doesn’t crave affection? He just knows how to achieve it without broken vows or commitments. Or trust.

If, though, it happens that Benji does trust or care for you, he will stay by your side at any cost. Faithful as faithful comes, and loyal like muggles think of dogs. He would give his life. He would take a bullet - or a curse - for anyone that he loves. For those few that exist.

{{SLY;; BUT NOT A TRICKSTER}}
“When I want something, I know how to get it. Smooth talking, wide grins. A slight touch to the shoulder and a soft coo of understanding. It doesn’t take much. People are simple, when it comes to working them like clay. You can mold them to do what you want, or to give you what you want. Make them believe anything you want. I’ll leave the ethics of it to you.”

Though Benji will be selfless for the ones who matter, there are times that he’s very, very selfish. He knows how to use his words to his advantage, and exactly what people want to hear. While making people certain of his intentions, he can spin a web of false hope around them, and given reason to believe that he might come around. That is to say, he’s blunt, but doesn’t always allow for his actions to match his words. And mixed signals go out. Sometimes it’s something he does knowingly, others it’s just something that happens.

{{VISUAL;; AT ANY COST}}
“You may be satisfied with this fuggin’ dull uniforms, but, baby, I don’t go that way. Groovy is as groovy does - the brighter the better. There’s a reason I alter these uniforms, man. Badges and patches, different stitching - and boots. Don’t tell me what I can and can’t wear. Have a problem with my make up, too? Or is that just because you’re jealous? Maybe you could use a little, with a face like that.”

Looking at him, you’d know right away that Benji was an artist. He craves exciting, visually stimulating patterns and fabrics - and is bored to tears by the plain, dark color schemes of the school robes. He favors large sweaters, tight pants with bellbottom legs, and make up so extreme that it’s impossible not to notice. He does his best to dance around the rules about uniforms at the school, though receives detention frequently for inappropriate dress. He couldn’t give two billywigs’ stings if he’s in trouble. Many of the professors have just given up.

{{STUBBORN;; HARSH}}
“Ever hear the phrase, ‘I’m right, you’re wrong’? It applies now.”

Short, not-so-sweet, and straight to the point. Benji doesn’t sugarcoat for anyone anymore, and he doesn’t intend to. He’s not flexible when it comes to what he believes is right and wrong and will not adapt his beliefs or values for anyone. Tell Benji the sky is blue and he thinks it’s purple, he’ll still insist it’s purple. Even when faced with the evidence above his head, floating like a giant, offensive red flag. He can ignore it. Sometimes being stubborn works in his favor, though it usually works against him. He’s too proud to admit he’s wrong or to apologize, and too stubborn, so his friendships will suffer for it.

{{SLEAZY;; PASSIONATE}}
“You want a night of heavy loving? I’m your man. Come at me with a pillow for your head, a bottle for mine, and we’ll love the night away between sheets. We’ll tangle limbs, dance against your lips, and feel better than we’ve ever felt before. I’ll give you something scream about. Say my name, baby. Say it again. But don’t be fooled. I don’t love you, and I won’t. I love only my music and my life - I don’t have time to go around and around playing these love games with anyone. If what you want is tender loving, sweet kisses and flowers, find someone else. Call me when you’re done riding your delusions of romance.”

Just come out and say, already, you’re thinking. Benji is sex-obsessed. As many teenage boys are. He’s slept with more people than he can count on his hands, and it doesn’t bother him one bit. He does what he does to guard his heart. And it works quite well - until he finds someone that stirs dusty butterflies in his chest’s locked cavities.

Passion must be reserved for something that can’t love you back, in Benji’s mind. He loves his music, and he loves Quidditch. He’s passionate about both. The only soul who feels all of his unconditional love, or ever sees the compassionate side of him is Jasmine. And she would never hurt him.

MOTHER: Reiko Nobunaga, thirty-seven, Ravenclaw, Vampire Exterminator, pureblood witch.
FATHER: Vasile Dragomir, deceased, didn’t attend Hogwarts, owned an underground “vampire treat” shop, neutral, vampire.
OTHER IMPORTANT FIGURES: Jazz, or Jasmine, his magical familiar. His “grandmother”, Ruxandra, whom he lives with. She was a friend of his father’s before he passed away. His uncle Mircea, who is still alive and visits him frequently; he’s a vampire, like Benji’s father. Benji was named after him, in a way.
BIRTHPLACE: Brasov, Transylvania in Romania.


OVERVIEW:

{{everything has a beginning...}}

Reiko Nobunaga was a proud witch, as she was raised to be. She was of the purest blood and therefore of the soundest mind within her world. She attended Hogwarts and achieved grades that would have the most intelligent students open-mouthed and bleary-eyed with jealousy. The girl was even beautiful. She would have been with or without the expensive robes that were tossed her way by her father, whose job (while illegal) provided them with more than enough of what they needed.

In the summers, they visited Romania often. His occupation as a vampire exterminator required it: for every witch and wizard knows that Romania is the land teeming with blood-sucking, bat-loving vamps, just waiting to kill whoever steps into their territory or looks upon them with curious eyes. Reiko knew to keep away from them when her father was not about, and carried a small bottle of garlic powder with her to keep them at bay. Just in case.

But as she grew older and developed a mind of her own, Reiko grew more concerned and less afraid with the issue of vampires in their world. She knew that they were not magical creatures, and nor were they worthy of the rights granted to magic folk (though it seemed the Ministry thought that they were at least deserving of life, the foul lot of them). But there was something irresistibly intoxicating about the vampires in Romania. A particular vampire.

She’d never spoken to him, only heard hushed whispers of his name: Vasile Dragomir. Though she had seen him quite a few times. He was a rather placid fellow, with a face that could make even a veela with reservations swoon. Somehow, she’d always pictured vampires to look dead: with hollow cheeks, dead-looking gazes and blood-hungry grimaces permanently masked onto their faces. But he, he wasn’t anything at all like that. His features were soft, and his expression often times blank. He had long, red hair that frizzed and puffed, and eyes that were a dark crimson - like blood. If anything, he looked very alive. Or very annoyed.
Her curiosity mounted one evening in the fall of her twentieth year: there was a celebration in Brasov. Vasile, though usually not the type to interact with the people of the town, had come knocking at her door. He wore a slight grin and a red robes. His hair as wild as ever.

“Good evening, Madam.” He said, once the door to their vacation dwelling had been opened. Reiko gripped the bottle of garlic in her pocket tightly. Without noticing, Vasile continued, “There’s a party going on, down in the streets. You see, my brother is to be wed in the fall, and it’s a bit of a miracle that anyone could stand to marry him. We’re hoping to enjoy it as long as it lasts. You know. Get a good ride out of this hippogriff until it drops dead.”

Reiko could barely get past the word ‘dead’. She swallowed and gave a weak smile. “Y-your brother?”

“Yes. My brother. He’s a bit of a... ehm. Well, the polite way to say it... he’s rather fond of women. And has a hard time settling with one.” Vasile scratched his delicate-looking cheek with a miffed look. He seemed embarrassed. It hadn’t occurred to Reiko that a vampire, of all things, would be conscious enough to become flustered. Come to think of it, shouldn’t she be dead by now?

As it happened, Reiko discovered that Vasile was very convincing. It only took him a few minutes to have dragged her out to the streets, where loud music was playing - live music - and endless plates of food were being served, along with cups of some thick, dark substance that had a strong, metallic smell. She could only guess that it was blood. And that she was in the midst of a churning, laughing party of vampires. She felt like a mouse surrounded by a compound of cats, trembling as their satanic eyes moved over her and drifted away.

It wasn’t until Vasile appeared again, his hand resting on her shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze, that she relaxed. How odd that his touch was so reassuring. “Don’t worry, Reiko. They’re not going to hurt you. We don’t take blood from the unwilling here.”

“You know my name.” She no longer felt calm in having him so close.

“Yes, we all do. Your father is responsible for the deaths of many of our kind.” Vasile frowned deeply. His hand slipped from her shoulder and she felt her lungs deflate in relief.

“You’ve got no proof of that. It’s rude to go around saying things like that about strangers, you know.”

“It’s also rude to go around slaughtering people merely because they’re different than you.” He said flatly. “He underestimates us. And so do you. Carelessly sending owls from our town, expecting no one to find what it is you’re plotting. A land without bloodsuckers, right? Weren’t those your words?”

Reiko was speechless. Weeks ago, she’d sent out a letter to her mother. While her father spent time lurking around the less urban cities of Romania, someone must have pried into her mail. She’d been wondering why she hadn’t heard word back, and now it was making sense. And perhaps this was why her father hadn’t had a successful kill in such a long time: none of her mail was going out. It was going directly to the enemy.

“That’s what I thought. It’s clear that I’m correct, just by the look on your face.” He smirked at her. “Now, if you don’t word slipping out that you’re here, you’ll come with me. I’ll keep you safe if you stay close. But if you stay here, they’re not going to spare you. It’s not going to be long before they realize who you are. And what you’ve done.” And with that, he turned upon the heel of his expensive looking boots and pushed his way through the crowd. Not one to be left within the crowd (she hardly thought a tiny bottle of garlic would protect her from a mob of vamps), she skittered behind him clumsily.

{{mistakes will be made}}

It was a mistake: Reiko didn’t know why she’d done it, but she had. Glass of wine after glass of wine got her feeling comfortable. And Vasile was such a smooth talker. She wasn’t sure how it had gone from an awkward silence of glares and contempt to drinking and laughter - nor did she understand how she’d ended up beneath him, panting against his lips in the same rhythm that beat beneath her bare bosom. She fled as quickly as possible, without a single word to him. Though he was not eager to speak to her when she left anyhow.

Months passed before she noticed it. But it was apparent after her pants were no longer fitting right, and her mornings were met with illnesses. When she’d been with Vasile, it had not even occurred to her that, perhaps, vampires and witches could produce offspring. It was evident now, that it should have.

Furious? No, she wasn’t furious with herself. She was afraid of what her father would say or do, think about her. But she went on with the pregnancy, unable to bear the idea of killing her unborn child. She thought that perhaps, since the child would only be half vampire, she could raise him as human. No one would notice. No one would have to know. How wrong she was.

On the early morning on January 15th, sometime around 1AM, Benjiro Nobunaga was born. He was given his mother’s name officially to avoid questions from Reiko’s father. But that was the least of her concern: Benji had been born with a giant tuft of red hair upon his eyes (just like Vasile’s), and the beginnings of fangs already poking out from between his lips. What was worse, he was starting to bite, though the fangs were not sharp enough to do much damage - yet.

In a desperate attempt to save her own skin, Reiko fled to Romania with Benji tucked tightly in her arms. She wasted no time - as soon as she arrived she was on Vasile’s doorstep, knocking on his door with a desperation that she’d never known. Thankfully, Vasile understood as soon as he saw the child. Without a word, he held out his arms to take Benji, and told Reiko that she should leave at once. He could care for Benji, but he would only be in danger if she stayed. Because Reiko asked it of him, Vasile allowed his name to stay as “Nobunaga”, but gave him the second name of “Mircea”, after his own brother.

{{like anything you do, as anything you are!}}

Vasile was a natural father. He’d spent most of his life dreading parenthood and the chains of responsibility that came with it, but once he’d plunged into it, he knew he’d never want to go back to being without Benji. Life with his son was full and meaningful. No time was empty. And his heart was always full of something - love for the boy, or annoyance at times. But most of the time, they were pals. And they grew closer as time ticked on it’s fateful march.

Everything that Benji would know about existing as a vampire, he learned from Vasile. He learned how to find a donor of blood, and how to kill simple beasts for sufficient sustenance when no one was willing to give it up. While the blood of these creatures didn’t taste as good as human blood, it was better than nothing. Benji learned to acquire a taste for it.

For a long time, the two lived happily. Even without a mother, Benji lived a life that was satisfying and fulfilling. As a eleven year old boy, he had felt no loneliness, and very little sadness. And Vasile even planned on sending him to Hogwarts in the fall. They were to be moving to a home in Godric’s Hollow, closer to Hogwarts. Vasile had been meeting with Dumbledore, to assure that Benji would be safe at the school. And that no teacher would allow him to be teased for his blood status. Once he’d been properly assured, it was all arranged.

All in time, but too bad that Vasile wasn’t prepared for what ugly beast reared it’s nasty head just before the fall. In the dead of the night - after midnight - widows of their home were shattered. Benji’s screams echoed against the walls as a woman in dark robes - with two men at her side - grabbed him by his arm and tugged him along to his father’s room, where he was held down. Vasile, with tears running down his cheeks, stood proud, though his hands were tied behind his back and a circle of garlic powder surrounding him. He could not move. And he knew his fate.

“So you’ve finally returned, Reiko. Here I thought you’d listen when I told you to stay away.” Vasile murmured, his eyes glued to her. She smirked at him.

“I couldn’t stay away forever. This was your fault. Wretched beast. And it’s time that you met the end your kind so deserves.” Reiko brandished her wand, still holding onto Benji, who was crying loudly.

Instead of responding, Vasile looked down at his son. A deep frown was on his face. “Mircea...” It was what he always called Benji when he was serious about something, “Don’t let her fool you. Stay strong for me. I love you, son.”

Benji’s eyes grew wide, though Reiko paid no mind to her son. She howled. “Aren’t you going to beg for your life? Plead for me to let you go?!” Her wand pointed at his chest, “Beg, you monster!”

“I will not.” Vasile looked only at Benji, slowly smiling. Tears welled and rolled down his cheeks.

“Avada kedavra!” Green light, bright like the sun, hit Vasile directly in the chest. He slumped to the floor and lay motionless, his eyes glassy and wide with one last tear trickling down.

Benji lunged forward, crying for his father. He tried to reach out to him, to grab him and hug him. “Wake up! Dad, wake up!” But Reiko’s hold was far to tight. She hissed at him.

“He’s not getting up, you little half breed! He’s dead. Deader than all the humans the two of you have killed together.” In an instant, Benji was thrown to the ground, and Reiko’s heavy boot thudded against his small chest. He gazed up at her with terrified, red eyes. Her wand raised. “Father was right, when I came to him all those years ago. Begging to repent for all the wrong I’ve done. He’s promised us all a real future, without little half-lings like you. Loathsome little leach. Enjoy your stay in hell. Ava---”

Voices, chatter like desperate cockroaches’ hissing, rose from outside. Something was banging against the doors. The weight on Benji’s chest was suddenly lifted, and the woman, Reiko, was hurrying away. But not before shouting over her shoulder, “This isn’t over, little brat! The next time I see you, I’ll kill you! And it’ll be a sight that will give me reason to grin!”

When Benji was discovered, he wouldn’t speak. He wouldn’t move. He wouldn’t eat. It was decided, when Mircea refused to take the boy in (he’d just split up with his third wife and wanted time to explore the world), that he would be placed in a home with Ruxandra - Visale’s oldest and dearest friend. She welcomed Benji with open arms, and took good care of him. Though he did not speak to her until he returned home from his first year at Hogwarts.



{{and where there’s a beginning, there’s an ending}}

Years went by, and Benji began to flourish. He still missed his father a great deal, but upon the arrival of his magical familiar, Jasmine (Jazz, as he called her for short) in his life, he began to become more outspoken. He went out more, had more friends, began to sleep around (much to Ruxie’s dismay), and even began to play on the school’s Quidditch team for Gryffindor. Music was his vice when flying or playing Qudditch wasn’t enough to calm him down. He played his guitar, sang, and wrote lyrics often to keep himself grounded.

He's grown a deep hatred for bigotry and bigots of all kinds. He'll do anything to see it stop.

And that’s where we leave off.

{{and for each ending, there is a beginning}}

I have read and agreed to the rules of this site. I hereby recognize that my disobedience of these terms will result in punishment at the sole discretion of the admins.

Signed: Benji~