Information

Axe has a minion!

Chop the Axsan

Axe
Legacy Name: Axe

The

Bloodred Demi
Owner:

Nataku

Age: 19 years, 4 months, 3 days

Born: December 29th, 2004

Adopted: 19 years, 4 months, 3 days ago (Legacy)

Adopted: December 29th, 2004 (Legacy)

Statistics

Level: 183
Strength: 457
Defense: 459
Speed: 457
Health: 457
HP: 334/457
Intelligence: 38
Books Read: 27
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Weapons Tester

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Here I stand, helpless and left for dead

Close your eyes, so many days go by
Easy to find what's wrong, harder to find what's right

I believe in you
I can show you that I can see right through
All your empty lies, I won't stay long
in this world so wrong

Say goodbye
As we dance with the devil tonight
Don't you dare look at him in the eye
As we dance with the devil tonight

Trembling, crawling across my skin
Feeling your cold dead eyes
Stealing the life of mine

I believe in you
I can show you that I can see right through
All your empty lies, I won't last long
in this world so wrong

Say goodbye
As we dance with the devil tonight
Don't you dare look at him in the eye
As we dance with the devil tonight

Hold on. Hold on.

Say goodbye
As we dance with the devil tonight
Don't you dare look at him in the eye
As we dance with the devil tonight

Hold on. Hold on.

Goodbye

Axe's story is a work in progress until Nataku can find a comfortable backstory that isn't too terribly cliche and still logically leads where it should go.

Axe, born Francisca Delanore Franks, was not always an axe-wielding assassin. To the contrary really, she spent her younger years as a very typical suburbanite young girl whose favorite color was lavender (not purple, because it just wasn't the same) and whose mother dutifully carted her off to her gymnastics classes three days a week. And Francisca loved her gymnastics classes. She tumbled and cart-wheeled, back-tucked and did splits right along with all the other little girls there. She thought she was quite the athlete, and like many young girls, aspired to become a professional gymnast and travel the country and maybe even the world winning competitions, be the best there was.
So when the time came when the gym opened up applications for the new team to take to competition, Francisca, now twelve years old, was one of the first to apply. The day of try-outs came and she flew across the mat, leapt from bar to uneven bar and did an absolutely grand flyaway. She thought a spot for her was assured on the team, there was not a doubt in her mind of that, her only question was whether she would be the first or the second pick. With a grin from ear to ear, she gathered into a tight group with the rest of the girls around the teacher as she announced the list of girl who had made the team. "Leah. Sarah. Amanda. Michelle aaaand Stephanie."

Francisca stood, the grin she'd had plastered to her face but a minute before had turned into an open-mouthed gawp. She swallowed and called out, "But what about me?"
The instructor, who had already turned to walk back to her office paused and looked over her shoulder at the small girl.
"What about you? You didn't make the cut."
And that was that. The instructor turned and walked away. The other girls were all off congratulating the girls who had made it or being the ones patted on the back. Francisca just stood there, her shoulders that she normally held so perfectly square in proper form dropped a little then. She hadn't made it? Not even first or second slot, but not even onto the team?

Francisca quit gymnastics about a week after that, and her mother, ever doting parent that she was, blithely went along. Fine, the young girl thought, maybe she didn't have the most perfect double backhand spring there had ever been. She could do other things. Gymnastics was stupid anyhow. No, she would be a ballerina instead. She had always wanted to do ballet, they had such very graceful moves. She told her mother her new desire and off she went to enroll in ballet classes. Certainly with her experience as a gymnast she would already be able to do a good portion of whatever moves there were to learn in ballet.
So for two more years she studied ballet, practicing relentlessly up to the regional championship. This was going to be her shining moment, her coming out into the world of ballet, when all of the instructors and other students from around the area would see her and recognize her for how good she really was.Francisca placed fourth at that competition. She stood on no podium. She took home no trophy, no medal, no ribbon. No one took her picture. She went home with another failure. Was she not good enough for this either? What did it take to make the cut?

Several more years passed, and the Demi grew into a fine young woman - one who now was a professional dancer, or at least studying to be one. She could regularly be seen dancing the two-step as she brushed her teeth in the morning before school, boogieing a bolero down the sidewalk to her bus stop. But still, as hard as she tried, she had no trophies to put on top of her book case. She had no ribbons to pin to her wall. Francisca had attended every dance school in town, studied every type of dance offered, she knew them all, but no one ever found her good enough at any of them to be 'the best.'
So she played sports at school. She'd played volleyball, but her spike wasn't precise enough; basketball - she could jump certainly, but at only average height she wasn't what the coach was after; took a swing at baseball, but she'd never be anything more than an outfielder; she'd even tried golf but that wasn't good enough either, because someone could always get a lower score! Was there nothing she could be the best at? Why was she never good enough? Sure she wasn't the worst, not by a long shot, but if she wasn't the best then what was the point? She didn't want to always be the one someone else beat. The runner-up is always the first loser, and she just couldn't accept the fact that she was doomed to be a second-best. There has to be something out there she was the best at.

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