McCAFFREY, JACK

[JACK McCAFFREY]

HELLO MY NAME IS BELPHEGOR alias JACK McCAFFREY AND I AM 30 YEARS OLD. I’M A DAIMON AND RANK AS SLOTH OF THE SEVEN SIBLINGS OF PURGATORY AND I WAS BORN ON 11th OCTOBER 1979 IN SCOTLAND HELL. MY NATIONALITY IS SCOTTISH-AMERICAN. PEOPLE SAY I LOOK LIKE MATT BOMER. THEY ALSO SAY THAT I AM CHARMING, ENTHUSIASTIC, AMBITIOUS, MOTIVATED AND EASY-GOING. TO BE HONEST, I'M BEING PLAYED BY ROBYN.

CODEWORD: IVORY

ROLE PLAY SAMPLE:

In comparison to his blonde haired, smooth skinned counterpart, Kisame had a hard time wandering the streets of Suna unnoticed. Against a backdrop of the desert, hues of yellows and orangey-browns, the blue skinned man stood out far more than Deidara ever would. Even though they wore the same, the crimson-ebon robes, the manbeast was more striking than the petite blonde, practically feminine in his appearance. It would have been a simple errand normally, nothing but a run into down for a package of Itachi's, whatever it was - with them being criminals and all, the odds of it being something legit was unlucky – but he was not one of question his partner. Needless to say, Kisame never obtained the desired item. That bastard Gaara. The Sharkman was barely able to set a foot silently onto Suna soil before the Kazekage was on top of him.

Kisame clutched his side tightly, panting as he move swiftly through the back eyes, nothing but a black and red blur to those who weren’t chasing him. Even for a boy, Sabaku no Gaara had made something of his father’s empire, so much that hunter-nin chased him through the streets. He winced, screwing up his face in a most unattractive manner, sharp teeth biting at his inner lips, pushing down so hard that his tongue lolled in his own blood. Samehada clung tightly to his back, purple spines tainted with a bloody red, as he turned the corner, taking the turn to wide and beating his shoulder off the wall of some strange building. He couldn’t stop now, they would catch up to him sooner than later, and then he’d be shark fin soup.

He crept himself pinned to the shadows as ebon eyes peered up at the buildings front. What a stupid place to hide! So stupid that it may just work. Dragging his hand away from his side, he pressed a bloody palm against his other, eyes closed and chakra concentrated. Water swirled swiftly from his feet, Mizu Bunshin springing to life from the wet, bursting forward into a run through the streets, leaving the real Hoshigaki to his own doings. Limbs drifted to his side once again, palm clutching the bleeding bound in his side, other hand pushing the door open gently. Drifting into the Oasis library soundly, he peered around, avoiding the eyes of anyone. People stirred at the tables, restless with the reading. Breathing quickening, his heart rate leapt as he slipped into the rows of bookshelves; doing his best of avoid any attention. His vision was blurry, the blood from his wound crept through the lining of his robe, dripping on the ground behind him, leave a solid trail to him, as he collapsed in a shadowy back row of books, hefty head knocking against the shelf, literature crashing round about his wounded state.

“Mrrr.” Kisame stirred in his position as the books rained a storm on his already pounding head. They were all in their own right, just a bunch of words scribbled down on some paper. Why were the bloody things that heavy? The shark cursed the books. What happened to be the one that fell open before his eyes? Oh the irony in the words in which the book spoke. Literature wasn’t his friend. Come to think of it, he didn’t remember the last time in which he actually sat down to read a book. Had he ever sat down to read a book? And with the current avalanche of stories falling on against his skull, it hurt too much to think. And then there was that voice drilling into his head. Kabuto? Oro’s b i t c h? What the hell was he doing here? Bloody brilliant. Just what he needed, that little weasel running about ruining things. Speaking of weasels, Itachi was going to kill him. As if this day couldn’t get any worse?

As things would have it, it was going to. That fateful ‘yeah’ at the end of every bloody sentence. The footsteps grew ever louder as Deidara moved down the hall. Kisame turned his head away from it as Deidara spied him, not wishing to see the expression upon the boy’s face though he was already familiar with how it would look. It would probably be the same if anyone saw him in that state. For someone with such a reputation as he, to been seen in such a wounded state was nothing short of embarrassing and to be seen by a fellow Akatsuki, he’d never live the experience down and to be seen by him especially. Of all people, why Deidara? He didn’t speak to the boy right away as he questioned him, refusing to turn his blue face – in both physically and emotionally speaking – to look at Deidara. He slipped his arm round the boy’s neck as he was helped back to his shaky feet, his other hand grasping his bleeding body.

As Deidara moved away, the Sharkman stumbled, falling back some, a hand jutting out using the bookshelf to support him. His eyes dropped to the floor as he caught the blonde’s backwards glare. Was this really all his fault? He had better things to do himself than be here! If anything, it was Itachi’s fault! He was here upon the request of Itachi, so how was Deidara meant to blame him for all this mess? It hadn’t been his fault that Gaara had happened to be lurking with the entire Sunagakure army. How was he meant to expect that? It was just meant to be a normal trip into Suna, as it had been on many occasions before. And anyways! It wasn’t like Kisame knew that Deidara was here. Through no fault of his own was Deidara to be wrapped up in things – it was only by chance –some twisted bit of fate- they ended up here, together, like this.

Why were all these thoughts running through his head? Why was he worried, scared of what the younger would think of him. It wasn’t like him, not in the least. Shaking it off, Kisame blamed the sand. Nasty, gritty stuff. It had wormed its way into his head. That must be the reason. In his more usual, almost childish personality, Kisame spoke, “What did I get into, nothing!” he said with a scowl, beady black eyes avoiding the yellow voids. “What got into me, I think his name was Gaara. Jealous?” he hissed in an attempt to lighten the mood with some dire form of comedy.

Raising his head, he peered over the shoulder of the younger, eyes fixed on Kabuto. Stumbling forward, he made his way behind Deidara, pressing his body against his companion’s back to keep himself upright. The smaller was right, now they did have to worry about the ANBU and the Kazekage hunting them down and there was that part of the man which was sorry for dragging the boy into this mess. But still, he didn’t have to treat him as he was treating him. They were all allowed their slip-ups, and he was sure Deidara had had his. Sasori’s constant screaming at him was enough to gather that much. Their partnership seemed to mostly consist of them yelling at each other for something or other. Itachi and he got along. And though Itachi, the infamous clan massacring Uchiha, was something to be afraid of, it was Deidara’s harshness, which terrified the Akatsuki at now. “Give him the f**king book, Kabuto” Kisame hissed from over Deidara’s shoulder. He was sorry for the mess he had got the pair of them into so far, and wasn’t going to let Kabuto make it any worse.

[/FONT][/SIZE]

[/blockquote]
[/blockquote]