Abilities/Powers: None in particular! Gino is a very skilled devicer (a pilot of Knightmare Frames, the obligatory mecha abominations of this particular universe) and talented in the arts and also at being a big huge dork, but that's all he really has going for him.
Items/Weapons: The key to the Tristan, which will be functionally useless here. It's essentially a fancy USB stick. It has programming data and whatnot on it which will show if plugged into a computer but is good for absolutely nothing without the actual frame!!
Sample Entry: ( VIDEO )

[ Gino looks a little embarrassed when he turns on the camera, but "guilty" might actually be a better word. it's hard to make out on camera, but there appear to be flecks of something... white and vaguely powdery, in his hair, and maybe all over his face, too. he raises up one hand in a quelling sort of way. ][ the first sign that he did something stupid and would rather fess up to it now than get caught red-handed (white-handed?) later. ]

I found something I had never seen before, but the bag was giving me trouble, so I pulled a little too hard, and, well... I'm sure it's not a big deal! We can always find more somewhere, right? It just exploded everywhere...

[ uneasily, he realizes he hasn't clarified what it is he found yet and slowly picks up a bag of what was once powdered potato spuds for mashed potatoes, now empty and ripped completely in half. he is covered in useless potato spuds. he is a useless potato spud. reiterating quickly: ]

Now, don't get mad! If there's one, then there has to be more! Even if it looks completely unappetizing, and I have no idea how it's supposed to be potatoes, once I find another bag I'll share it! [ glancing at the ripped bag in his hand. ] And... maybe find someone else to open the bag for me, next time. Guess I don't know my own strength.

Sample Entry Two:

He hasn't had much of an occasion to make use of the new weapon he'd found for protection, really. It's been awhile since he found it (discarded in an alley, it's good enough quality that he's almost certain it probably belonged to someone else at some point, but they hadn't been around to claim it; finders-keepers), and he never lets it get too far from him, just in case he should need it, but as far as making use of it, well. Gino supposes he views it the same way he viewed his military-issue rifle when he was a grunt in the army. It has the same weight, and that's not in pounds. It's just the meaning of it—that's the part that has a weight to it. One that's familiar, and not terribly pleasant to bear. Piloting the Tristan was much different, not that there isn't much of a shift between holding a weapon in your hands and being at the controls of one. Still. Being in the cockpit of the Tristan made him feel free. Carrying something meant to kill someone he'd have to look in the eye made him feel heavy.

Still, after everything today, he's glad he thought to bring the crude, short, thin blade along, letting it rest against his shoulder with a winded sigh. It's been a long day of exploring and it's still not over yet; somehow he thinks he ought not be so tired, when he hasn't been in any real danger all day. It's probably the anticipation that's wearing him out, something he's learned by now not to take for granted. Instincts can save a life better than some ratty old weapon can, sometimes. When he actually bothers to give it thought, it surprises him how much he's settled into being here. Maybe once you've been doing something for long enough (a couple of months is long enough?), you can get used to anything. Still. Most of the time he doesn't bother to question what's next, he just goes with it, because it's something to do. Because it's what he's supposed to be doing. Because ever since the war, and the events that followed, he has yet to really feel like he has a purpose, and this is as close to that as one can have, in this situation.

... Well, not really. None of this means anything to him. But he can play pretend, he's good at that. And when he does he can become immersed in this fantasy world for at least a little while, which is all that really counts in the end, isn't that right?

"Honestly, I don't really know," he says to himself for no real reason. Someone behind him, one of his exploration partners, maybe, says huh? and he wipes the serious look off his face in the blink of an eye. One minute a frown, the next a big, easygoing smile, shrugging the shoulder that isn't weighed down by his terrible weapon. "Nothing!"