Sumeragi Onodera
[W.I.P]
[W.I.P]
General Informations
Sumeragi was a 37-year-old man born on April 3, 1987, on the quiet island of Manabeshima, nestled in Japan's Seto Inland Sea. Standing at 6'2" but weighing only 147 lbs.
He identified as male, using he/him pronouns, and was known to be straight, though he rarely spoke of personal matters. A quiet reverence for Shinto beliefs guided his outlook on life, reflected in small, thoughtful gestures that hinted at a deeper spiritual awareness. Much like the still waters of his birthplace, there was an understated calm about him, subtle yet undeniable.
Sumeragi was a 37-year-old man born on April 3, 1987, on the quiet island of Manabeshima, nestled in Japan's Seto Inland Sea. Standing at 6'2" but weighing only 147 lbs.
He identified as male, using he/him pronouns, and was known to be straight, though he rarely spoke of personal matters. A quiet reverence for Shinto beliefs guided his outlook on life, reflected in small, thoughtful gestures that hinted at a deeper spiritual awareness. Much like the still waters of his birthplace, there was an understated calm about him, subtle yet undeniable.
Appearance
Sumeragi was a tall man with an olive complexion that seemed to glow faintly under the right light. His tired scarlet eyes held a depth that spoke of untold experiences and hard-earned wisdom, as if he had seen far more than he cared to share. Despite this, his demeanor exuded a quiet shyness, his gaze often drifting away during conversations, as though retreating into his own thoughts. He was an enigma of a man, unique in a way that felt both compelling and dissonant.
His interactions with others were marked by a peculiar awkwardness, as if the unspoken rules of social engagement were a language he had yet to master. Conversations with him were often tinged with an unexpected dryness, his words sharp but not necessarily unkind. His detachment was not borne of malice but rather of unfamiliarity, like a lone wanderer unaccustomed to crowded paths.
Physically, Sumeragi cut an imposing figure. His broad, solid frame carried a quiet strength that demanded attention without trying to. His unruly, reddish-brown hair framed his face in wild strands, a stark contrast to his impeccably maintained clothing, which was always neat and carefully arranged. This visual dissonance, the clash between untamed and orderly, embodied the essence of the man himself. Every part of him seemed to exist in contradiction, a puzzle of mismatched pieces that, somehow, fit together in a way only he could make sense of.
Character Voice
Sumeragi always carried his sketchbook with a quiet, effortless familiarity. It hung loosely at his side, held by his fingertips along the spine, never clutched or cradled — just there, as if it belonged to him as naturally as his own hand. When he opened it, his movements were fluid and precise, flipping to the right page without a glance, like a well-practiced ritual.
The sketchbook itself bore subtle hints of his mastery. Smudges of charcoal dusted the edges, faint streaks of dried paint caught the light, and the pages lay slightly warped from layers of ink and water. The few who caught sight of its contents were often struck silent by the lifelike faces and vivid scenes captured within. No unfinished sketches or hesitant lines, just bold, confident strokes that revealed an artist who knew exactly what he was doing. Sumeragi never boasted about his skill, but he didn’t need to. The way he carried his sketchbook and the rare glimpses of what lay inside was more than enough.
Backstory
[Onodera Family Lore]
The sketchbook itself bore subtle hints of his mastery. Smudges of charcoal dusted the edges, faint streaks of dried paint caught the light, and the pages lay slightly warped from layers of ink and water. The few who caught sight of its contents were often struck silent by the lifelike faces and vivid scenes captured within. No unfinished sketches or hesitant lines, just bold, confident strokes that revealed an artist who knew exactly what he was doing. Sumeragi never boasted about his skill, but he didn’t need to. The way he carried his sketchbook and the rare glimpses of what lay inside was more than enough.
Backstory
[Onodera Family Lore]