HOLY SNAP I'M BACK AGAIN. I'm seeing a lot of new blood here, looking forward to meeting everyone!
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Disclaimer: Because there are VERY few things actually canon about Yumie’s condition and past, this is largely an
interpretation of her character. Others will have different opinions, and with mine I’ll try and stay as close to historical and manga canon as possible.
Have you see the OVA or read the manga series of Hellsing? If so how far have you gotten? If not please direct your attention to youtube, and watch OVA 1-4 at least. Warning: If you have watched the anime we require you watch the OVA, or read the manga. The anime is not canon. This is not our opinion. This is the law set down by the creator of Hellsing, Kouta Hirano.I’ve read up to volume 9 in the English version [I don’t like reading scans D:] and have seen up to OVA VII [I CRIED].
Name: Yumiko/Yumie Takagi
Age: Roughly twenty three.
Gender: Female
Physical appearance:
YUMIKO:
Yumiko isn’t a tall woman in the slightest, her petite statute leaves her at a meager five foot two inches. Lean muscle stretches underneath taut pale skin, unblemished and porcelain save for several scars, few and far between (mostly Yumie’s doing). She retains a slight hourglass shape, a bust of normal size and average length. A slightly round face encompasses large, doe-like eyes, themselves a husky caramel hue, denoting the woman an almost childlike quality. Long lashes, thick and black, almost touch the thick lenses of old fashioned, slightly crooked wire-framed glasses that are roughly the size of her eyes. High cheekbones and a slightly flat nose-bridge mark an Asian ancestry. Long, black and chopped bangs threaten to obscure her vision, falling over thick ebony eyebrows. It flows freely when not partially restrained by her navy-blue wimple.
YUMIE: What was once a docile, tamable woman now seems to tower over her prey, posture tall and self-righteous. Her eyes narrow, the almond shape somewhat more exaggerated, a fanatical fire raging in the depths of her once plain brown eyes. Hands are often curled into fists, chest jutted out, jaw set in one determined, fine line. A smirk crawls its way across her lips, thinned with the force of a predatory scowl. Hair unkempt, muscles clenched, she surveys an area with the eyes of a wild animal, barely restrained by this human flesh-and-bone prison.
Physical mannerisms and tics include:
-Lip chewing [Yumiko]
-Fist clenching [Yumie]
-Clammy palms [Yumiko –technically Yumie too, but Yumie doesn’t get nervous like Yumiko does]
-Fainting [very rare. Yumiko. Fainting when seeing excess amounts of blood/a dead body or a few, something very traumatic]
-Nausea upon exposure to traumatic events [Yumiko]
Clothing of choice: A customary nun’s habit, complete with frilly bloomers and petticoats adorns her small frame, the navy blue a slight contrast to the ordinary guilt-ridden black of her compatriots in fanaticism. It falls to her ankles, feet covered in what appear to be some sort of comfortable combat boot—a simple leather lace-up shoe to support her aching feet at the end of a long, grueling day. Contrary to most nun’s apparel, Yumiko wears a garter belt and thigh high stockings beneath her rather demure wardrobe. Much like Yumie dwelling within her, its as if the clothes are a metaphor for the persona behind her outwardly shy and docile persona.
Organization: Fanatically Iscariot
Personality: Note: Yumiko suffers from Multiple Personality Disorder: a disorder usually brought on by sexual trauma in childhood, or severe physical trauma in general. It also has some genetic ties as well, in the context of vulnerability. Sexual abuse isn’t the ONLY cause, but childhood trauma is a leading one. This disorder created a defense mechanism for stressful times and dangerous situations: a usually dormant personality called Yumie. Unlike many MPD sufferers, Yumiko is aware of her others’ existence without professional help. Yumie lies “dormant” within Yumiko; they do not share the same memories, the same feelings or same interests. They may interact while Yumiko is unconscious, but her physical appearance and posture will change depending on the personality, as will her voice. They have a few things in common, such as a fierce devotion to Iscariot and God, but Yumiko will not be aware of goings-on when Yumie is in control, and vice versa. Under hypnosis, such an interaction can be achieved, however. Yumie’s existence serves as Yumiko’s greatest burden, her greatest strength, but also most insistent weakness.
YUMIKO:
Outwardly quiet and demure, and not the least bit deceiving, Yumiko comes off just as she is: docile, quiet and malleable. Easy to trick and quite gullible, she’s practically a seven year old in an adults body. However, Yumiko does possess one fierce trait: her devotion to God. While not violent, Yumiko is often deeply hurt by any negative comments about her faith, her home, or her compatriots. She’s not one to lie, and if she does, Yumiko will more than likely feel guilty for the weeks to come. Good with children, and quite the pushover (though she can exude a bit of stubborn qualities when it comes to her). Her condition warrants a lot of ‘odd’ behavior, and perhaps the only reason Iscariot kept her on was due to her berserker nature. Speculating this, but grateful nonetheless, Yumiko often feels a sense of worthlessness. She clearly despises losing control of herself and “awakening” Yumie, but usually she succumbs to reason, noting that its usually the only time she can truly be of use to Heinkel. While appearing rather naive and easygoing, Yumiko is very much aware of how “inconvenient” she can be at times. Steadfast and loyal, Yumiko often tries to act “tough” for her partners’ sake, viewing her, Anderson and Enrico as the only family she’s ever truly had. A strong sense of loyalty dictates her actions, coupled with guilt and remorse.
YUMIE: Raw and savage, Yumie is the polar opposite of her main personality. Anchored to sanity only by Heinkel, Enrico and Anderson, Yumie is the embodiment of savage power. She cares not for grace or the sparing of a life, but has a very one track mind. Barely anything can distract her [unlike Yumiko, who is practically on the border of attention deficit] from a task, save another mission. Laid back and bordering crude sometimes, Yumie is almost the male counterpart to Yumiko, daring to be as hypocritical as Iscariot’s envelope will let her push it. Enjoying nothing more than a good slaughter, this nun is indeed as devout as her other, willing to drop anything and everything for God’s will, wishes or what have you. Socially inept, Yumie can either come off as respectful in a familiar situation, or downright rude.
Rank: Assassin
Biography: Yumiko’s parents died when she was relatively young, the tender age of three in a car accident. Born and raised in Kyoto, the Old Capital, Yumiko was the loved only child of Hiro and Ayano Takagi. Her father had always been estranged from his family, Yumiko never met her grandparents on his side, and her mother had been an orphan as it was, so her interactions were limited to her parents. They both worked rather busy corperate jobs in the same building [both were corperate lawyers], with little time for their daughters care, and thus Yumiko was placed in a daycare for most of the morning through late afternoon hours. On the way to pick her up, however, a speeding drunk hit their car, killing her father in the drivers seat instantly, while Ayano died later in the hospital. Not quite understanding what was going on, Yumiko was placed in the care of her aunt and uncle on her fathers’ side. At first, all was well, though her uncle had a bit of a drinking problem. After a few years of living with them, though, Yumiko began to realize the temper her aunt possessed, the incoherent mumblings she’d drabble on about in the wee hours of the morning. She’d snap at the tiniest things, and soon, her Uncle began to as well. Her first mark was a simple slap for her aunt for spilling water on the carpet, and from there it seemed that one could come at any moment. The bottle became more important than buying her clothes that fit, or helping her with her schoolwork, and thus Yumiko retreated to the library after school instead of walking straight home; her apartment turned a prison. Sometimes she’d fall asleep, curled up in the childrens’ section with a favorite picture book and stuffed toy, since she had none at home.
It was there that she met a lady in black, one who woke her up, questioned her tears at her lack of want to return home.
There were strange men always coming over, she said, some words like “Yakuza” that she didn’t understand, and the midnight conversations between her aunt and uncle about a ‘tradeoff’ or ‘debt’ her father owed to these men in black suits. They were always nice to her when they came by, but she didn’t understand what exactly they needed money for, and why she wasn’t old enough to give it to them.
Something about that had made the lady in black upset, or at least enough to tell her she shouldn’t be afraid, that she could somehow make the bruising and the yelling stop. Of course, little Yumiko questioned how, and the answer was a small book pressed into the palm of her hand. It was heavy, but small enough to be concealed. Yumiko went home that day with the present from the foreign lady, endured more yelling and hitting, and spent her night locked in her room, reading about the “Bible”. She read about vengeance, hellfire and torment, and part of Yumiko that wasn’t repulsed by it thought it…fitting for her aunt and uncle. While they were away and locked their niece inside, she’d fiddle with the katana Uncle kept on the wall, swinging it, imagining it shooting hellfire and brimstone, because that was what her book told her would happen to bad men like him. She’d seen him practice with it before, with the men in black suits, and she copied their moves, finding the practice somewhat..relaxing.
She continued to visit the lady in black at the library, talking to her about what the little book said and what it meant; hope. She wouldn’t have to live there forever, the little book apparently prophesized. “God”, whoever he was, would save her, and “Angels” watched over her.
Things went on as normal for another year or two, until Yumiko turned eight on another uncelebrated birthday. She had spent the day again, locked in her room, fearful of the heated arguments outside the door. Uncle had been drinking more than usual, sleeping on the couch instead of his room with Aunty, and tonight, after they stopped shouting, she slammed the door. She hadn’t really been aware of the shuffling footsteps until her door creaked open, her Uncle’s alcoholic stench smearing her room with its foul odor. She thought he’d leave, never thought he’d inch closer, closer still until he actually fell on top of her, grinning like a madman as his drunken hands sloppily forced themselves under her shirt. Aunty wasn’t “putting out”, he said, Aunty wasn’t being nice enough. He was touching her in places she wasn’t supposed to be touched, making her touch him while she tried not to cry. The night ended abruptly and he left, leaving Yumiko clutching fiercely to her little black book. Aunty didn’t return, and things just got worse. He’d beat her, leaving her locked in the closet for hours, restricting her food and even at one point, attempting to stuff her in their drier. He took the locks off the doors, ‘interrupting’ her shower time and holding her under the water, complaining constantly about Aunty and the money they so desperately needed from her, how the men in suits were giving him trouble. Trouble, that’s all she was, enduring night after night of him sneaking into her room and touching her, forcing himself into her hands and down her throat until she threw up. It was too much, too much for a little girl to handle. He never took the part of her God said she should keep, or so she’d read, but Yumiko’s only solace now lay within the pages of that book.
One night, he became adventurous again, deciding to try and choke her with a part Yumiko was sure no one was supposed to put in their mouths. She was exhausted from a day of beatings, sore from yesterdays and tired of covering up the bruises mostly located on her torso at school. Uncle seemed fine with them, he even let her stay home..not that that was a good thing. He talked about the men in black suits wanting to claim her as soon as possible, whatever that meant.
That one night, as he touched her and hit her and was about to try to force neck of his trusty bottle within her, Yumiko..
changed. She doesn’t remember it, only waking up in her living room with Uncles’ katana in her hand and blood covering her clothes, her hair, the walls. From there, she ran, ran straight to the library and dodged as many looks as she could to the lady in the back who took her into her arms, her and Uncles’ katana and her bible, and made a phonecall that stopped the police from coming by, at least for now. She was taking Yumiko away, she said, to a place where she didn’t have to worry about men in suits with gold teeth and tattoos. The next morning, she was on a flight to Italy, the golden spires of the Vatican rising before her.
It was from that point on that Yumiko came to be in Anderson’s orphanage.
[[The men in suits refer to the Yakuza, who Yumiko’s family was apparently mixed up with. Yakuza do indeed engage in the sex trade, even of young children—especially in china---and especially with those families that may owe them money. Her aunt and uncle were both drunks, aunt probably more loose in the head then she’d admit. To escape it all, she’d go to the library, where she meets an Iscariot nun, running a childrens’ reading program and assisting with a local orphanage. After her aunt leaves, Yumiko’s uncle becomes more and more abusive, especially sexually. Molesting her night after night and subjecting her to practical torture, Yumiko eventually snaps.]]
RP sample: It had been a quiet, uneventful morning so far, Yumiko mused. The streets of the Vatican were for the most part, deserted, no dangers lurking should she decide to run a few necessity-based errands by herself instead of with her usual escort. The sky promised rain, but she paid it no mind, instead focusing on keeping her steps in time with her mornings’ Hail Marys’. Every day was a blessing, and even the few cracks she stepped on were part of God’s plan for some momentous bridge in her life, or just the day, she supposed with a tiny chuckle. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea to take a shortcut back to her dormitory through a nearby alley, it looked clean enough. Besides, this was the Vatican, not some crime riddled city! She could even carry Yumie’s sword, sheathed of course, bundled in a sheet on her back. After all, her door didn’t have a lock, she didn’t want anyone stumbling upon it and playing with it, cutting themselves or something.
Yumiko turned the corner without a thought, lips pressed together in an ever-present smile. She didn’t, however, count on the man sleeping in the alley, or her nearly tripping over him, waking his toothless-smile. “G’mornin sista,” he drawled, and Yumiko frowned at the alcohol on his breath. She had been making her way down, still, after mumbling a quick blessing, but something was..on her foot. Looking down, she noted it was a hand. The next few seconds were quick and blurred, her feet swept out from beneath her, but before she could fall, a rough body pressed against hers, pinning her to the wall. Hands, hands were EVERYWHERE! Yumiko opened her mouth to scream, but her mouth was silent, and then------
Good morning, sunset. Yumie’s thought process was always jumbled, a chopped replica of the thoughts cascading in innocent spirals through her lighter personalities’. It was non-sensical fantastical gibberish, just the kind Iscariot liked to half half under their belt, always an inch away from total control. Yumiko’s mind was an endless, depth-ridden chapel, and Yumie spent thousands of hours praying, sending her hopes through thick, black-veiled barriers to a God that was merciful enough to break the tiny optical veil between tangible reality and a mental prison. For the most part, she was ‘asleep’, drifting in an endless black sea of faith and prayers, blood coagulating in mythical mental streams around her deceitful porcelain skin. Oh, if the world could see the scars this body had…
Rusty brown eyes snapped to full alert, a thick branch of her blade’s hilt humming with residual vibrations in a calloused palm, white gloves spattered with a spectrum of blood, torn and the skin beneath it quivering with anticipation. Her partner wasn’t too far away, but Yumie had wandered off on her own, or rather, Yumiko had. If it hadn’t been for a fortunate fall that left her wimple withering in a puddle a few feet away, glasses resting on the dirt’s crumbling surface, they
both might have ended up dead.
But no, it had ended in swift and easy bloodshed, Yumie only taking a second to breathe before another set of footsteps staggered within hearing distance. Drawing but once from the slick sheath of her biting blade, with a prayer and a swift schwick, sweet spatterings of blood hit her face with a resounding, visceral splotching sound. She wouldn’t question why she was fighting, or rather, slaughtering at the moment, a faceless mans’ torso spurting blood while his mouth sloughed forth screams, only why it wasn’t the raw, carnal enjoyment her usual fights were.
Eyes shooting around the area, landing on exposed brick and soggy asphalt beneath her feet, thugs that smelled of grime and last nights’ cheap brothel, she could only surmise why. Mouth twisting into a grimace, Yumie stepped forward towards the still-alive treat for tonight. Where were her glasses? Her feet ground the pavement beneath them, her vision taking on an almost ruddy filter.
Disgusting. Before, she had been relatively bored, surprised that her katana was even in such short reach. She could
feel his residual, grimy touch on her holy habit and snarled at the thought, his intent had been clear, and she could only guess that her katana’s handle had come into reach when he had
accosted sweet little Yumiko, the thing had probably fallen out of its bindings. The mere thought of hands, slimy, disgusting mens hands crawling up her body, responsible for the ruffling of her clothes, the violent removal of her glasses---Yumie physically shuddered while her prey still screamed and begged, blue eyes wide with terror. For what, she had to wonder? Had this man any faith, faith in himself, in God, he would’ve avoided this little shortcut today—yes, if he’d had any faith..”O come….all ye faithful….” With a twitch of the head, her grimace turned into a smirk, venom dripping from her sing-song voice. Other voices could be heard at the end of the alley, asking if their comrade was alright, enraged at the sight that befell them, and Yumie found herself rather frustrated by the noise. “If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It
is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to
be thrown into hell.” Came the quote, fluid on her well-versed tongue, her boot abruptly smashing into the skull of Yumiko’s would be assailant. Crunching his skull beneath her heel, she sighed again, wide eyes turning to glance at his enraged cronies. “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the
soul. Rather--- be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in
hell!” With that, she dashed, body blurring behind her as her katana met the sheath once more. Viciously, she pulled it free, sliding the blade like a shark through water into one waiting body, gasping in a near-pleasurable release as a head rolled to the ground. She hadn’t been paying attention, though, hadn’t been anticipating the other to kick out her legs from beneath her in such a cramped space where her blade barely had room to move. The back of her head made contact with the ground, vision faltering for a moment and her body enduring several harsh kicks that left her winded. This was a careless mistake, and the fact that it
was such angered her beyond belief. Grabbing the attackers ankle in both hands, she twisted, relishing the sound of a broken neck. Getting to her feet and licking her blade clean, a rather disappointed Yumiko huffed, making her way back to her first targets’ corpse and plucking a pair of round glasses from his hand.
“PRO 5:5 Her feet go down to death; her steps lead straight to the grave.”
Subject: Sister Berserker--Yumiko Takagi--DONE