.::Wang Yao::. /ACCTPD/

ACCEPTED


Name: Wang Yao

Age: 26

Birthplace: Beijing, China

Power: Stitches

Height: 5’5”

Weight: 110 lbs

Division: He remains aware of the Division, and of those fighting against them, though remains impartial to either side

Appearance:
Image
With slim, effeminate features coupled with long black hair tied back in a simple horsetail at the nape of his neck, Yao is often mistaken for a girl. Chin-length strands of ebony hair that refuse to be restrained by any manner of hair accessories, wide brown eyes, and perfectly arched eyebrows accentuate his pale, angular face. Despite being short in stature, Yao’s lithe frame exudes a willowy grace, from his elegant limbs to his long fingers, adept where artistry and fineness are concerned. Generally, Yao wears a loose tops leaning more towards formal rather than casual, and a pair of black slacks, though when he is in the kitchen, the tighter and less restricting (and flame-resistant), the better. He is partial to fiery reds and vibrant greens and yellows, and at an almost comical level, Yao is never without a small trinket concerning his favorite cartoon-idol, Shinatty-chan.

Personality: At his most basic level, Yao personifies what it means to be an elder sibling: calm and selfless. To anyone in apparent trouble, he will instantly try to offer aid, whether it is wanted or not—in such situations, he becomes indignant if his suggestions are not followed. Yao steadfastly believes that his character alone demands a certain level of respect, even though his friendly demeanor often yields opposite results. His obsession (since the level of devotion to the popular cartoon idol can only be described as such) for Shinatty-chan knows no bounds and there are some months where he barely makes his payment for his apartment because he spent all of his earnings as head chef for a fairly successful restaurant on the latest Shinatty-chan merchandise. For whatever reason, Yao has a habit of ending his sentences with the suffix “-aru”. In general, when he speaks to someone, he is unafraid of speaking directly what is on his mind, though he tries to dull the bluntness of his statements…whether it works or not is dependent on the situation.

History: Born in the bustling city of Beijing, Yao grew up in an overcrowded environment full of endless sights, sounds, and most importantly, food. Although he his parents had abandoned him in an orphanage shortly before their deaths, Yao soon found himself in the care of a standard-issue home for unwanted children. It was there that a ten-year old Yao became the “elder brother” to his “siblings” by virtue of his age alone. He was forced to provide for the near-bankrupt orphanage by doing whatever odd jobs a child could come across. While working in a less-than prosperous restaurant’s kitchen, Yao learned of his precision with knives. Much to the astonishment of his employer, he was able to carve intricate figures out of almost any medium. With a little coaxing, Yao was able to procure an apprentice position and soon learned the finer points of preparing meals, of crafting delicate desserts. The once-decrepit eatery soon grew to almost famous levels and all of his salary was sent towards funding his home, providing educations for his “younger siblings” (something that he was unable to attain since he was working ever since he arrived).

When he was nineteen, Yao received word (from a mysterious source) that he had a younger brother somewhere in nearby Hong Kong. Although he was hesitant to leave his surrogate family, they were adamant that their “elder brother” seek out something for himself (for once). He soon managed to book a passage to the Hong Kong and settled in a small apartment that has a pleasant view of Victoria Harbour and Kowloon. For the next seven years, he fruitlessly searched for any signs of him having a relation in the area, all the while he attended a relatively-cheap culinary school and started up a modest street stall. However, recently, he received a tip from an over-talkative customer that a young boy that met the description the (mysterious) person had given him was indeed present in the city…

RP Sample:

Against his even breathing, the sharp sound of a knife rhythmically beating against his plastic chopping board rang throughout the silence of his modest apartment, even as the gleefully smiling face of Shinatty-chan was buried under a mountain of thinly chopped slices of carrots. While they were primarily a Western ingredient, he felt no qualms against using them in his simple clear soup, along with almost translucent slices of mushrooms. The dish was meant to whet the taster’s palate before an appetizer, perhaps a delicate salad or petite rice balls shaped into intricate figures—one of his specialties. His skillful fingers deftly maneuvered the large cleaver to sweep up the vegetables (and fungi) before carefully dropping them into the simmering wok next to him. Stray drops flew through the air, hissing when they met the shining surface of his electric stove top. With a single swipe of a once-white rag, they disappeared. He took pride in a clean workspace.

With a practiced flick of his wrist, the temperature of the stove was lowered, the cheerful symphony of popping bubbles fading to a gentle murmur. Yao lowered a spoon into the contents of the wok, blowing on it with an over-exaggerated motion of his lips before sampling his work hesitantly--too many times had his tongue suffered minor burns from tasting too-hot food items. Frowning, the skin between his ebony eyebrows taut, he reached for a bottle of soy sauce and flipped the cap open with a twitch of his thumb. A few drops spilled out, tinting the simmering, amber liquid, and the broth was sampled yet again. This time, a smile, little more than a pleased half-grin, made itself known on a generally passive face, lighting it with a pleasantly cozy expression. It was one of careful happiness, displaying just the right of joy to create the appearance of true contentment. Some could argue that it was a lie, but only in a kitchen could he feel completely at ease. All the stress and anxiety of the world figuratively and literally melted away under the steam and fire of his domain, his paradise. It was only in this realm of fragrances, tastes, colours, and creativity that he could truly, honestly, relax.

Satisfied that his creation could survive a few precious minutes without his constant supervision (the exact opposite of his younger "siblings"), Yao untied his Shinatty-chan apron and neatly folded it on the back of a chair cushioned with a Shinatty-chan-themed pillow. He sat down in said piece of furniture with a small sigh, slumping against the high back appreciatively. No matter how much he was used to it, staying on his feet for over ten hours straight (not counting the fairly long walk to his restaraunt) took a toll on a person's body. His white-socked feet swung easily back and forth through the air, his toes ghosting across the white-tiled floor with a silken whisper. Slowly, every muscle in his body relaxed and he felt his mind slowly shut down, leading him towards oblivion. It was only when the rectangular prism-like object in his pocket began to vibrate and sound a remix of the Shinatty-chan commercial theme song that Yao became alert, shaking his head in an over-dramatic fashion, as if he could physically clear his mind of all thoughts of blissful, blissful sleep...

Reaching into a remarkably small pocket (why did all designer slacks have such impractical pockets?), Yao struggled to slide the electronic device out before the digitized melody faded. Opening it with a flick of his thumb, he raised the cell phone to his ear and uttered the standard greeting. The voice on the other end was vaguely familiar, cool, calm, and exuding confidence, even as the tone was distorted through what could only be a high-tech voice modifier. In response to the gravelly, too-low, and meticulously unaccented voice, Yao only had silence. At least, until he realized that his soup was about to boil over.

Other: His name is written in the Eastern-style format, with his surname before his given name. While he has no strict medical training, Yao’s ability as a Stitcher is personified in his skill with his hands and a knife, though he often resorts to traditional Chinese (and general Asian) methods of curing ailments. He possesses rudamentary skills in martial arts, complete with precise knowledge of of pressure points.