#ill do more soon...... but. i wanted to share aya first!

[forgetitbeam]

so ....... the first character i wanna ramble about is Ayameko Nakamura! ( aka the ultimate gravedigger )

- Aya grew up with a strong bond with her mother. their father wasn't the best man.. so, they lived in fear. however, they coped by working the graveyard shift. aya enjoyed the quietiness of it all.. and the beauty that death can be, with life blossoming around it.

- After their mother's passing, she'd attempt to live with her uncle, Apollo Creed. this lead to the worst experience in her life and retreating back to their father. there, she'd grow up to become a gardener.

- She'd cover as the Ultimate Gardener- but only for her father's sake. However, they truly were The Ultimate Gravedigger on paper.

- Asides from that, Ayameko did have a friend: Aimi Shio. ( aka Kei Shinola ) They begun as penpals but soon became bestest friends. Soon, becoming classmates!

- Ayameko is rather a cold and quiet individual. They keeps to themselves most of the time, rarely trying to make an effort in interacting with people. Her talk patterns becomes dry and uninterested, as well as rarely show any emotions, preferring to confuse those who interact with her. But, she will warm up to those who are willing to tolerate them and their freaky ways.

- Despite all that, she does treat others with kindest, rarely causing arguments or issues. That is, if the same respect is gifted. They aren't unfamiliar with the concept of violence, when it comes to those whom she deems "bad".

- Some of her likes are: Staring at people blankly, Flowers, Popsicles, Burying People, Shovels, Telling people their fortunes, Kind people, Lizards, The sounds of birds tweeting

- On the other hand, her dislikes are: Bad people, Fire, Being asked about her hands, Unicorns, Cutting their hair, Bright colors, Bears

- Their first language was Russian, similarly to her mother.

- Ayameko has burnt hands underneath their gloves, as from a robber catching the house on fire. As well as huge burn mark upon their back and shoulder.

- She has no eyebrows, mainly to add more eeriness to their design.

[mal-likes-biscuits]

More Diablo Character Head-Cannons

[Continued from here, so I don’t hijack the poof.]

I have pretty detailed head-cannons for most of the characters, including their personal habits. Some of the material makes it into stories when it’s relevant, whereas most of it doesn’t. But after talking with @fishyfiash about Inarius’ hair poof, I wanted to share some of the more relatable ones. Mostly about Malthael. And a few others.

Content after the break, because this is loooooong.

Malthael Discovers the Mortal Pool(s) of Wisdom

I have two Tales from Tristram chapters that I never posted, mostly because they were a bit too disjointed and they didn’t entirely fit into the series-cannon I was developing. The first one, though, went into details about when Malthael first moves in with Tyrael, and how they adjust to that. The Nephalem in town don’t find out right away because Tyrael bans him from going outside until he can figure out exactly what to do with him.

This goes marginally well until Malthael discovers that Tyrael has a bathtub. Up until this point, he’s been bathing in rivers, ponds, etc. because he’d mostly been living outside. He takes care of himself, but you know, Sanctuary isn’t exactly known for working plumbing. But some of the wealthier residents of Tristram do have a proper claw-foot tub, including Tyrael.

And, well…you probably should just read the best part of that canned-chapter excerpt:

However, the one habit Tyrael absolutely could not abide was Malthael’s obsession with the bath. He did not understand how a man who seemed to care so little about his physical appearance could waste endless hours soaking. He was not entirely sure Malthael even washed while in the tub, for he continually looked as though he had spent several days rolling about in the woods. He suspected his brother spent most of his time floating and staring at the rafters, perhaps trying to reclaim some sort of communion with nature in place of his previous use of the Pools.

What it meant was the bath water needed to be changed often. And since only Tyrael could leave the house, he spent a gratuitous amount of time heaving buckets from the town well back to his home. After which he would go to use the bath himself, often to find it occupied again. Try as he did, there was no dislodging Malthael from the room once he entered. He locked the door and responded to Tyrael’s annoyed pounding with terse apologies or, sometimes, simply, “Busy.”

Thus, it was not through any sort of redemptive behaviour or earned trust that Malthael gained himself permission to walk about Tristram. It was because Tyrael was tired of doing chores for two adults, and he knew that Malthael was damn well capable of caring for himself if given the opportunity to do so. It was not his responsibility to ensure his brother was fed or watered, and he could carry his own bath water.

This probably isn’t a surprise, given Malthael’s habits when he was immortal. There’s canon descriptions of him being elusive, quiet, and spending a great deal of time just staring into the Chalice. He loses some of that, plus his access to the Pools, when he becomes mortal. And though there isn’t actually any indication of what you do with the Pools, I’ve assumed the experience of looking into them (and the Chalice, by extension) is pretty similar to being in a sensory-pond and just…floating.

Which is what he discovers as soon as he gets over his initial “wtf is this giant bucket of water” reaction. The tub is one of the few places he can block out external noise. I imagine he soaks with only his nose and eyes sticking out, and just lies there and lets everything else go away. I would also imagine that if you really wanted to try and “woo” him, your best bet would be to present him with an already-prepared hot bath. Possibly with some oils or potpourri thrown in. Nothing too flowery, though. Something earthy, or spicy.

I’ve alluded to his preference for bathing before in a previous cannon-short. Unfortunately, as much as I love it, it’s never made it into a story proper, even if I consider it a critical part of his early-series character.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Ya’ll thought you were going to get through this post without a pun, didn’t you? Pfffft no.

In terms of mortal angels, I would assume their hair closely reflects the head-covering they use in their immortal form. Tyrael, for example, has a tight-fitting hood, which becomes his very bald (shaved?) head later. For this reason, Malthael has long hair, because his cowl has damn long ribbons on it.

The guy has a love-hate relationship with his hair. He would never, ever cut it short, because he likes being able to hide his face behind it. It’s comforting to him, the same way he likes the feel of it cascading over his shoulders. It’s a fundamental part of his body-image.

But, of course, long hair has its disadvantages. It tangles, for one, especially if it’s too long. It’s harder to wash. (Regardless of how much time he spends soaking in the bathtub, it’s not time he spends washing his hair.) It flies in your face when you’re trying to swing your swords.

Which means that there is an optimal length for his hair. This is approximately around or just past his shoulders. Long enough to cover his face, but short enough he’s not at risk of getting it caught in his weapons. Or his armor. And it tucks into a hood well enough. And he doesn’t have to spend hours trying to maintain it at a waste of his precious time. Don’t even suggest that he tie it up, because that completely ruins the cowl effect.

So far, so good. Until winter hits, and it gets cold. And it snows. Tristram is a fairly temperate climate, from what I can tell. It wouldn’t get too hot in the summer, and I assume it would snow in dumps in the winter. Anyone with long or curly hair knows that humidity of any kind is…bad.

The very precise drapes of hair that he carefully maintains develop their own internal gravity. They become frizzy. They stick out at weird angles. And no matter how much time he spends trying to keep his hair out of his eyes, it always ends up back in them.

Malthael, of course, refuses to do the simple thing, which would be to cut his hair in the winter. Instead, he packs up his bag and goes someplace warm. If you’ve (for whatever reason) been tracking his travels in the series, he always disappears for long stints over the winter months. There are multiple reasons for this, including that he legitimately dislikes being in the cold for too long, because, you know: death. Also, he’s no idiot, and he’s figured out that people always seem to get ill when it starts to snow.

But, going someplace warm and dry also conveniently puts his hair back where it should be. Mostly.

Malthael’s OCD hasn’t gone anywhere since he became mortal. If anything, he now has more things to become OCD about.

When your BFF Knows Hair Better Than You

Farah and Malthael talk quite a bit, whether it’s through letters or, eventually, in person. We’ve seen a bit of what they chat about, but it also extends to occasionally more mundane topics. Including hair.

Both Farah and Aya are blessed (or cursed, they might say) with extremely thick hair. And since they both wear theirs long, they’ve learned all kinds of ways of keeping it up out of the way, and also of keeping it healthy. Aya is a lot flashier with her hairstyles, but Farah is practiced in all sorts of braids, buns, you name it. You can’t carry books around if your hair is always falling in your face.

She notices early on that Malthael doesn’t do anything with his hair. Of course, she also doesn’t say anything, because she knows he’s particular about his looks. They have to be just so. But eventually, one night, they’re sitting and talking in front of the library fire, while listening to a torrential downpour that’s been going on outside all day.

And he keeps trying to blow hair from his face. Repeatedly. He’s clearly annoyed. And Farah has had enough of their conversation being interrupted with “pfffffft” every twenty seconds that she has to say something.

This is how Malthael learns about proper hair care. I mean, Tyrael isn’t any help. He doesn’t have any. But Farah certainly does. And she’s familiar with hair oils, and all the things you need if you have thick, long hair and you live in a desert oasis.

She never does convince him to let her braid his hair, or anything of the sort. But he does end up with substantially less frizz when it gets rainy outside. And he becomes quite the expert at braiding her hair if she asks. Because, fair is fair, and if she wants to do something weird like that with hers, then he isn’t about to judge.

Coffee is the Drink of the Gods���

The other Tristram short that was canned, which I might post eventually just as a joke-fic, had to do with Aya bringing Farah a coffee set from Caldeum, and Malthael absconding with it because Farah absolutely can’t stand the taste or smell of it. The fic was canned because it was just too tongue in cheek and because I didn’t like working coffee into the story that much, though they would likely have some sort of equivalent there.

But yes, for anyone who is wondering: Malthael does drink coffee sometimes. He prefers tea because it keeps him awake without absolutely wiring him. But sometimes, you’re working late, and you just really want to finish something, and the only thing that will help with that is a good, dark cup-o-joe.

Tyrael hates when Malthael drinks coffee, because it makes him jittery, and he also starts. Talking. Incessantly. Coffee removes his mental filter almost as much as alcohol does, at least in terms of conversation. And it also makes his conversations even harder to follow, because his brain is jumping around at several times the speed of its already remarkably fast pace. Any conversation with him while he’s had coffee is just a relentless string of non-sequiturs that make perfect sense to Malthael and no sense to anyone else.

…Unless You’re Tyrael, and then the Drink of the Gods is Alcohol

Tyrael is one of those work-hard, play-hard kind of guys. In a completely respectful, kind-hearted way. But, in short, his favorite thing to do after a long, stressful day of work is to get hammered and sing raucous drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. He makes no apologies about it. He likes being mortal at this point. He likes all the emotional, giddy, messy parts of being mortal. He likes dreaming, he likes eating, he likes drinking, he likes banging.

If you think Malthael hates when Tyrael comes home four sheets to the wind and proceeds to slam around cupboards and doors and everything while Malthael is trying to read quietly, then yeah. You’d be right. (They’re brothers with completely different personalities, they find all sorts of ways to piss each other off.)

Most of the time, they co-habitate fine, because Malthael is often not home, or not even in Tristram. But he’s been subjected enough to Tyrael’s boisterous, happy-drunk-mode to know that it’s best to just nod, fake a smile, and let his brother talk until he passes out. Hopefully on a chair, because Tyrael is a LOT bigger than Malthael, and regardless of physical fitness, Malthael has a 21 in dexterity and a 12 in strength, and he’s not lifting his bro into bed. No way.

Now, Tyrael must drink a lot to get to that point. Which is why he’s at the tavern all night.

Malthael does not drink. Well, he shouldn’t drink. He’s a cheap date. One beer, and he’s getting a bit chatty. Two, and his filter is gone. Three, and he’s probably hanging off your shoulder and either arguing about some completely esoteric philosophical principle, or he’s laughing about the shape of the tree leaves.

Lyndon vastly prefers Tyrael drinking to Malthael, because Tyrael is fun. Malthael isn’t exactly aggressive, but he can get kind of argumentative, especially if you prove him wrong about something. Which is not hard to do when he’s drunk. You only think you’re wise when you’re drinking.

Which Takes us to How They Know This (Also Known as, the Time Malthael Drank Mead)

The story of Talm’s wedding has been referenced a few times, mostly in the Tristram stories, but it never really gets expanded on beyond that lots of mead is imbued. The real truth is that when Malthael tells them he doesn’t drink, he’s never tried until that point. All he knows is it makes mortals act stupid. You don’t need it to survive. So, why bother? (Biscuits are superior.)

But, sometimes he succumbs to peer pressure. He’s happy for Talm, and he’s feeling pretty content, and they really want him to have fun. He’s only going to sit with them to talk. That’s it.

Except, research. Hey Malthael, how do you know what alcohol is like if you don’t try it? How can you even appreciate how it affects other mortals if you haven’t even experienced it a little bit? He’s watched random people drink enough to assume you have to drink a lot for anything to really happen.

Oh. Poor guy. They have mead. It’s probably a good 15% at least. And he is the world’s. Cheapest. Drunk.

So now, they’re stuck with him at their table, and he really just wants to talk about stuff. He has a lot to get off his chest. He’s only been mortal for a year, and really doesn’t understand social conventions yet, and all of these emotions he’s been bottling up this whole time want to get out. All at the same time.

They’re relieved the farmers have no idea what Malthael is talking about, because he’s blathering on about cups filled with light, this incessant noise that still follows him around everywhere, and how he doesn’t get why this all makes so much more sense now when he’s stupider compared to when he was taller and brilliant.

Lyndon isn’t nearly hammered enough to be listening to all of this. He’s still skeptical that they didn’t just stab Malthael in Salvos and be done with it. But he’s also kind of…amused. Because this is the guy they spent days tracking down in Westmarch. Whose deep, terrifying voice was blathering on through the Soulstone about Murder and Souls and Deeeeeeeeath.

And now he’s in an argument with Jerem’s cousin about the proper way to season biscuits.

This is clearly not the same person. Or, at least, he’s a mortal, healthier version of the angel they happened to stab many, many times through the chest. Healthy is relative, Lyndon guesses. If it doesn’t include being really intoxicated. And from what he can tell, Malthael is still an impatient, sarcastic know-it-all. He’s just shorter and eats things now.

The whole party really jumps the shark after Talm and Lena disappear for the night, and the relatives get rowdy. Someone starts up a little sparring competition with practice sticks. Tyrael, of course, jumps right in, because holy shit, drinking and physical activity? He’s all for that. The farm hands put up a very good fight, but he eventually comes out on top.

But, you know, drunks can be drunks, and someone starts razzing the little skinny guy to go and challenge his brother. Hey, are you really brothers, even? You don’t even look the same. But, whatever. No can do, says Malthael, he’s not getting involved with that. At least, until someone calls him a coward.

And then he gets mad.

Oh Hells, Lyndon thinks. But also, Hells yes, because this is going to be hilarious. It is, for most of it. Neither Tyrael or Malthael is sober enough to swing the sticks properly. It ends up being a great show of them stumbling around and taunting each other. Too much taunting, probably. It gets personal. It’s good for them, right? They still have a lot to talk out.

Tyrael isn’t the best at talking at this point. He takes all his immense frustration at his stupid brother, puts it in his fist, and punches Malthael in the face.

Which is how the party ends.

Jerem watches the whole thing perfectly sober, because he’s the responsible host, and he’s really confused at who the hell these two actually are who have spent the night arguing about angels, and demons, and related things like they exist. Now one of them has a bloody nose, and the other is apologizing profusely, and there’s a lot of adult tears happening about betrayal, and bad decisions, and Jerem figures neither of them is going to remember any of this in the morning.

But, brothers are brothers, everyone has troubles, and he’s not going to get involved, other than to get some ice from the cellar, and a few rags to mop up the blood.

Malthael wakes up on the floor of the barn, covered in hay, spilled mead, and pastry crumbs, and decides he’s died again because his head hurts so bad. He also decides that drinking is the dumbest thing in the world, and he’s never going to do it again.

Probably.

But that’s a story for a different time that you’ll actually get to read.