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Our resolution!

Don't underestimate the Vongola.

This journal may contain adult concepts.

Created on 2009-05-06 03:29:13 (#19962907), last updated 2009-11-25

395 comments received, 388 comments posted

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14 Journal Entries, 2 Tags, 1 Memory, 0 Virtual Gifts, 49 Userpics

Basic Info

Name:	Gokudera Hayato

Contact:

hyaline314@gmail.com

Bio

Gokudera Hayato
"Who puts a kitten in a box?"

BASIC INFORMATION

Age: 15
Height: 173cm?
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Silvery gray

PERSONALITY

Hayato is a punk. He dislikes people older than himself, he doesn't like following orders if they're not coming from Tsuna. He talks loudly, crudely, carelessly, answers to his own irritation with violence, has questionable morales and doesn't seem to care about most people worth nickel. His fuse is short, and with short, I mean miniature. His attitude is mildly said acidic, and without a fail he doesn't hesitate to broadcast his opinion when he thinks the situation calls for it. And it calls often. He's a classical badboy, talking back to teachers, destroying public property, beating up those he doesn't like-- and of course, girls love it. The dirty charisma of mafia seems to work for his benefit even if he doesn't much take a notice of it - either he's feared or idolized.

However, towards his friends (not just Tsuna) he is protective, loyal and responsible, coming to their aid when it is needed. His overgrown pride is what stops him from showing it openly to anyone else but Tsuna, who commands a devotion that Hayato doesn't bother hiding. He obviously finds it hard to connect with people, and he keeps pushing them away as long as he can. It could be assumed that it is a backslash from his less than ordinary childhood, being constantly poisoned by his sister with an open acceptance from their father, later on the humiliation of not being accepted by any other mafia family, not before Tsuna. Or it could be that he is just suspicious and independent by personality. Combination of both is probably closest to the truth. However, after Yamato's lecture during their fight with Gamma, he's begun to actually work together with the other guardians rather than just clinging to Tsuna's coat tails.

Hayato is immature on many levels. He's headstrong and fire-fast by nature. But he's also analytically intelligent and has been managing his own life completely on his own for years. He's not afraid of work and has strong determination when he decides to accomplish something he deems worth the effort.

Tsuna is by far the most important person in his life. Often he seems almost fanatical about his desire to be by Tsuna's side, offering support, protection, friendship.

POWERS

There's nothing magical about his ability to control explosives, not even rocket bombs that are designed with several smaller explosions to give the dynamite some mobility. However, he can operate his Dying Will through several magical rings, including the Vongola Ring of Storm. The rings combined with different kind of boxes will give him several different kind of attack and defend skills. His sistema C.A.I is designed for his unusual ability to produce five different types of flames, a puzzle in which he uses several boxes, several different types of flames and rings at the same time to produce effects that are of several different types at the same time. His Vongola ring of Storm changes into a handhold cannon, which produces different types of attacks depending on the type of bullets he loads into it. We can see him use Rain coated Storm attacks and shields and a close range Cloud attack, Thunder beam, which he claims to be his most powerful attack, and Sun activation that gives Storm bombs more speed and acceleration. The cannon can be operated without the sistema C.A.I as well. It has two abilities, one is to distinguish Dying Flame and other is a powerful explosion blast. Uri, his box animal, can turn into a powerful ally during battle, and she seems to be rather protective over him.

NARRATOR

he first thing that registered to him was the fact that his pillow was wet, a trickle of saliva on his cheek. Gokudera breathed out a halfhearted growl as he rubbed his face, turning on his back, eyes still closed tight. Shit. If mornings would eventually get easier, he'd be a happy guy.

What was on the agenda today anyway? Probably more training with the idiots. Instinctively he winced, fingers brushing over the wing of his brow and the faint burn mark still lingering there. Like a god damn circus every fucking day with those two. He'd almost prefer to go back to his old training with Bianchi to avoid that. His stomach twisted dangerously and inspired yet another growl as he rolled to sit up, fingers slipping down to rub over his bleary eyes.

No, today was not like that...

Right. Byakuran. Namimori temple. The Funeral Wreaths.

The tentatively building nausea turned into nervous tingling at the bits of his stomach, and he turned before thinking anything else, grabbing a pillow and tossed it over the edge of the bed. Yamamoto was probably still sleeping, that idiot.

“Hey, baseball nut, it's time to--”

The pillow flopped on the floor beside the bed as he stared it. This was not his bunk. Yamamoto was not sleeping under him. There was nothing but floor there.

What the hell?

As if yanked on a string, his face snapped up, eyes scanning around the room. His reading glasses were on the bedside table on top of a book he had been reading last night. It was a thick science fiction novel, something he had picked up three days ago from the city to calm his nerves. His bookmark, a tattered post card, was peeking from between the pages, exactly on the same spot as where he had left it last night.

Next was the blanket, which went flying back on the bed as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and was on his feet in a split second, padding over the floor restlessly. There was something heavy in the air, something inexplainable. It made his heartbeat speed up and hands hesitate when he reached the door. What if it was locked? What if he'd find something dangerous behind it?

What if--?

With a snarl, he swung the door open, staring at the small kitchen, unoccupied by any dangerous creatures. And yet there was something there...

He pulled the door close and took few steps back, considering what he'd do next. Hand carding through his messy hair, he paused to stare at a big wardrobe at the opposite wall. His glasses on the table. Pajama pants clinging loosely to his bony hips were definitely his. The post card – he was willing to bet it was his handwriting that could be found from it, unsent years back. But where were the rest of his stuff?

He didn't hesitate this time when he yanked open the wardrobe and peered inside. A black suit on a hanger, piles of familiar looking clothes, and-- His Belts were there, boxes intact, rings resting beside them. Good, he thought grimly. Whoever was behind this, he would fry the asshole as the first thing he'd do.

Pulling on a pair of tattered jeans and a black shirt, he paused for a moment to strap those several layers of belts around his narrow hips, attaching them with a heavy buckle before slipping the various rings onto his fingers, and eventually fingerless gloves on top of them. As he was about to close the doors, his eyes caught something shiny on the collar of the black suit. One of those comlinks Giannini had gave them the night before!

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