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| Topic Started: Jul 9 2009, 11:31 PM (1,345 Views) | |||||||||||||
| Silas | Jul 9 2009, 11:31 PM Post #1 | ||||||||||||
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Head of Registration - The Exploding Train
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Journey | Computer Name: Ookami "Ami" Chiyo Gender: Female Age: 20 Profession: Collector Appearance: ![]() It is impossible to truly describe a wallflower- no one has ever seen one. They slide from sight like rain across the gloss of a raven's wing, a shadow sitting comfortable in the corner of your eye. Ookami Chiyo has come to embrace this about herself. Her colors are muted- even the red - blonde hues of her long hair are dried out like sun bleached autumn leaves. Her body is wraithlike, thin and covered in a frail, breakable skin. Every bit of her looks like it will cave in on the weight of itself, crumble into dust and lift into air. It has been wasted with twenty four long years of periodic illness, sapping her of any prettiness she might have otherwise had. Her every feature is touched with sickness- her face is too thin, too pale, her eyes a little too hollow in their sockets and lined with deep, pained shadows. It has been a long, hard fight. But her eyes themselves are still somehow filled with life, behind the thick veil of lashes and perpetually sleepy eyelids. Within those bright hues a sort of rebellious peace rests, combatting with the fear of an ever closing death. How she adores adorning herself in monochromatic tones, venturing sometimes boldly out into a spectrum of pastels, and its all subconsciously orchestrated to keep prying sight off her. She's so tired of pity, of tutting, of sad looks and sadder news as her prognosis spread and touched the few people still left in her and her father's lives. Still, while her efforts have met with great success (no surprise! considering how short the human attention span is), those who did manage to train their line of vision upon her may note that she is laughably short. She is a grand total of some sixty two inches, from the bottom of her flat slippers to the very tip top her head so often adorned by a headband of some pale hue. All too often she has been the butt of jokes, which bring to sight the high blush that comes easy to her high cheeks and a most displeased pout, that bring a downward curve to her ashen, cupids bow lips. In fact, if one manages to ignore the sickness may find that her face is particularly expressive, though it always holds tinges of fatigue. She hasn't learned the skill of "hiding your hand" so to speak, when it comes to most things, and her newness to adventure and freedom often means she is very often expressive indeed. . . In harkening back to long past years of when she was well and better suited to happy walks and mingling, she still adorns her figure in high quality garments, with touches of well placed accessories and subtle paint, to improve the image. Ooklamii may be desperately shy and timid, but that doesn't mean she can't have a fantastic fashion sense. Believing in the classics, she favors simplistic, ageless styles that perfectly complement her choice of monochromes and subdued palettes. And these subtle fashions are all for its own sake, really, or perhaps as little tokens to remember home. They reveal the wealth she came from, and the wealth she left behind. To protect her delicate skin, apt to burn, she accessorizes with sun hats and parasols when forced into the afternoon sun. Ridiculous looking in almost every case, but no one is looking anyway. Trainer Biography: The Chiyo family is a mite bit eccentric, as the story usually goes, when a person [ and his entire line ] believe they're important enough to ignore societal norms. It is not madness that touched her grandparents, whom she never had the pleasure to meet. They merely enjoyed the pleasure of. . . knowing one another very fully. In their time, the Chiyo Manor had been quite full of children! And in their own time they were dispersed to the four winds, to reside in other regions, or become cutthroat tyrants of corporations that would flourish and rise like behemoths and crumble with a whimper. The streak of bad luck that haunted the uncles and aunts of young Ookami was not an uncommon theme for the Chiyo family, though it was usually a prediction of far worse things to come. So very long ago, when the Chiyo name was far more prestigious, and chambermaids were lining up to become the concubines of the men, and dukes the less-than-loyal grooms of Chiyo women, the family crest had been a Ninetales. They were rare, in that region, to the brink of extinction. And one mad uncle made it his life's goal to have the head of one mounted over the fireplace [ this was back when it was rather uncouth to train pokemon, like a peasant or a soldier, too stupid to manipulate the intricacies of politics ], and make a glamours coat and scarf for his pretty young wife. He succeeded, and was appropriately cursed. The Chiyo line would be riddled with misfortune and death, skipping kindly here and there, but entirely unavoidable. And since then, it comes in all types- murders, accidents, sickness. The trend is that it is never pretty, and never in their sleep. And a sad truth is, no one in these last few generations knows why this misfortune stalks them so relentlessly- though a few have come close. Those few equipped with morbid humor, just close enough to the family not to offend, will endlessly jest that there family was cursed; someone skinned a Ninetales, hmm? At least, they did. The jokes ceased quite suddenly as Victoria Chiyo, a woman of Swiss and Thai descent, wife of the last surviving Chiyo, gave birth to two dead sons. The loss for a heirless Chiyo family and a sensitive, much in love couple was too much to bear. They took comfort where they could in each other, but it was so strained- the rift of the tragedy was so deep. Together, bound and chained in grief, they retreated from the fringes of public life. By the miracle of one night where it seemed love had rekindled they tried again. And from it, Ookami Chiyo was born, fragile and beautiful and alive. But just barely. Her weak immune system, common to her father's line, has allowed sickness to dogged her her entire life. How her parents loved her, and were so heartbroken by her. There was no chance for the grand Phoenix resurrection of the Chiyo line. It was just a little girl, sick enough so that there was no way of life save for that of constant midnight calls to house calling doctors. Victoria simply couldn't take it. She couldn't bare seeing another one of her children dead. She never divorced her husband, merely wrote a short, poignant letter and left it with a kiss on the pillow where she had slept beside him for so many years. In silence, without a goodbye or hint to her departure, she put her back to the manor, never to return. She would move to another region, she would take up coordinating, or painting perhaps, and forgot about her time in this sad place. A few hours later her father broke the seal and burned it, took his daughter into the cradle of his arms, and kissed her gently on the brow. That day, the disappointment he felt on the fringes of his love was overwhelmed by a need and emotions that only a father can feel, and never describe to someone who has never had a child themselves. It didn't matter that little sickly Ookamii was not a boy. It didn't matter that the Chiyo line was coming to an end, and that he would likely die before she was married, cutting away their once proud family tree. He loved her, then, fully and completely and with his everything. Perhaps it was born in desperation at the sudden loss of his wife, his best friend, one of only a handful of companions. But it scarcely mattered- the relationship that came from it, between father and daughter, was deep and uncorrupt. He loved her so, and that was all there was to it. As she grew, she was not always bedridden and haunted by illness. Sometimes its grip broke, allowing her to grow and blossom, like any other child. What glorious, infrequent times! Where life touched her body and strength her limbs. In those days and months and sometimes years, she learned to ride Ponyta (never competitively, for her body was still touched by past years of sickness that would never truly leave her), and once took up fencing. She climbed a rock wall, and went to a state fair. On a summer night, she went to the circus and saw an Absol juggle with the scythe on the side of his head, and climbed up on the shoulders of a Snorlax, who ferried her around for a bit. To ask her of when she is well is to let loose a torrent of beautiful memories, that in only a handful of minutes her visage will light up with joy her subdued, pale features would suggest were impossible. In these moments, it is clear that if she had not been so sick, for so long. . . she would have been so different. So bright, and confident, and clever. A creature like a wild summer days, rather than a single ray of sun through a window pane, pale and weak. And, indeed. It was this type of sun that she saw most often as she lay buried beneath warm quilts, feverish and miserable. It fell in through her bedroom window that allowed a view so maliciously beautiful into a world she'd scarcely touched, taunted her endlessly as she rested like a corpse in the beautiful coffin of her bed. What way to amuse her morbidly twisted mind, than collecting? And she did it so endlessly; books, dolls, crystals, rare brooches, masks, death urns. Her father would bring these to her endlessly, periodically, placing them in her hand and delighting her with how he found each one. . . what trader, what strange, foreign land. She lived in this fashion for twenty years, never seeing a reason to leave her home, when all it would mean was resting ill in a bed where her father could not keep her company. In her twenty fourth year, things turned for the worst, and a verdict was reached. Ookamii, after multiple intense head aches and fainting spells was finally diagnosed with a brain tumor. Caught early, but it's placement in the brain stem made it lethal though it was fairly timid for now. But the aggression of the disease would wreak havoc on her frail figure with two years. Perhaps, perhaps, she'd see the five year survival rate if she took treatment-- to which she politely declined. She had seen their hesitant looks, as they peered over her medical records, saw her track record. She wouldn't survive chemotherapy. She folded her hands in the skirts of her lap, looked them in the eye (her act of boldness was betrayed by her own body; her fingers and voice trembled- she was so afraid), and told them firmly, "That's quite alright. I think I'll tend to my own health, form here on out." No more pills, no more syringes. Enough beds with satin sheets and doors like coffin lidS and enough dreams. A year, perhaps two at most, until she started to feel the more devastating side of the effects. So few days to tread, hesitantly, from her world of dreams into the much harsher realm... She'd been told of the suffering, and warned of the sudden cold shock that came from having only yourself to rely on... but that was better than fading away in her bed. And yet still, she had promised her father she'd return. To come back, to be beside him, and tell him of all her travels. She could never ever abandon him. And, honestly, what father could deny the wish of his last child, whom he'd likely never see alive again? The world is vast, and she was never the type to apologize and turn back when she realized she'd bitten off too much. So, he did what a man who's greatest gift can only be acceptance does; he gave her his blessing and a sweet, stripped fox. He walked her down the forest framed path, 'til they stood on the edge of Nogou. He hugged her, telling her he knew she'd come back with so many grand things to tell and share. And then returned home, sit in his study, losing himself in his books and old photo albums. The Chiyo line was coming to an end. Personality: What can one expect of a sickly girl with all the world experience of a newborn babe? She's sweet and demure, the lessons of her tutors and father well embedded into her personality. However, this leaves her with the tendency of being overridden by those who have no problem raising their voice, by the people who've learned that aggression and persistence is a far better strategy. Her reaction is always the same- a fluttering of words, falling in a tangle from her lips, a high blush touching her cheek, and then eventual compliance. She simply has no idea what she's gotten herself into when she threw herself into this brand new, verdant world, filled with people who have no trouble going after what they want. But her innocence to just how rough things can be comes out in her quiet, sunny optimism. Every stranger and every experience is greeted with a tired, genuine smile and a resilient hope for the best. Every person, she is oft' found to say, could be a friend in disguise! Even the bitter, brutal truth only dampens her spirits before she rises once more to her feet. After all, what else could she possibly do, hmm? Give up? There is nothing at the end of that dark road but death and she is quite determined to take life for everything she has. Even if, sometimes, that optimism is a bit of a farce. If she keeps right on at pretending to be happy, she finds that soon enough, she really is. But she is not all delicacy and 'uhms' and 'ahhs'. She is no princess waiting to be swept up into the arms of a noble knight- though the notion brings a nostalgic and almost wistful twist to her heart. Instead, when she decides she'd like something, she tends to expect to get it. And while she is easily overridden, and a 'no' in her direction will only get you a quiet nod, it'd be foolish to believe her heart was filling with complete shock and outrage. Sweet as she is, her history as sole heir to a line of "old money" [ though, admittedly, funds have become quite depleted in these last few decades, if the decaying manor is any sign of it] and her father's doting disposition has left her a bit spoiled. No one ever says no to an heiress, much less a dying girl. And what is perhaps worse- she is obliviously self-centered because of it, and sometimes quite unable to empathize. For all her hate of sympathy, she had ridden in the lap of luxury all her life because of it. Giving up this one happy side of it is not something she intends to do anytime soon. And while she expects no hand outs in Mysste, daddy isn't here after all, she can be endlessly stubborn and hardheaded. Those who disagree with her, refuse her, or have simply offended her in some small way may get the brunt of her cold shoulder- a move she has well perfected. Still, for all her insisting that she wants no one to take care of her, she is constantly surprised by how difficult everything is. Her own set of skills is painfully limited, save for what she's learned beneath the hands of tutors and pompous professors. She has no clue how to do laundry, or work a vacuum cleaner. Depending on her own funds, likewise, is an exercise in constant displeasure and restraint. As for the food, she is apt to turn up her nose at bonfire cooked food [ a terrible habit, considering her current state of malnutrition and the eventual loss of appetite her sickness will bring]. This immaturity is just a fraction of the rebelliousness she has rolling in her soul, a quiet need to prove everyone wrong and win out despite the odds- though she herself has not recognized it. Which is sad because, without that knowledge, it manifests in ways that are quite petty and becomes unintentional weapons for harming others. She has a long way to go, in so many respects. Starting Town: Nogou Village Trainer Items 1x Poketech 3x Poke Balls 3x Great Balls 1x Ultra Ball 2x Luxury Balls x1 Grand Festival '12 Token x1 Grand Festival '12 Cabinet Painting x1 Dream Ticket (Equuz Lv 1) x1 Dream Ticket (Anacondice)Badges None Awards Won None Jobs and Teams Money: $230 Star Tokens: 81
Edited by Seraria, Jan 5 2013, 11:43 AM.
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| Silas | Jul 9 2009, 11:41 PM Post #2 | ||||||||||||
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Head of Registration - The Exploding Train
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Pokemon on Team :velix Velix ![]() Level 11 | ( Hawthorn ) Scratch, Tail Whip, Spikes, Confuse Ray, Confusion Item: -- | Telekinesis 1/11![]() Vulpix ![]() Level 8 | ( Senna ) Ember, Tail Whip, Roar Item: -- | None 7.5/8![]() Deerling ![]() Level 10 | ( Hazel ) Tackle, Camouflage, Growl, Sand-attack, Double Kick Item: -- | None 5.2/10![]() Pikachu ![]() Level 10 | ( --- ) Thundershock, Growl, Tail Whip, Thunder Wave Item: -- | None 4/10![]() Lacink ![]() Level 17 | ( Ink ) Quick Attack, Defense Curl, Pursuit, Focus Energy Item: -- | Abyssal Essence 3.6/17![]() Swablu ![]() Level 11 | ( Jasmine ) Peck, Growl, Astonish, Sing Item: -- | None 3.2/11
Edited by viperdk1, Dec 17 2012, 04:19 PM.
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| Amii | Jul 23 2012, 11:16 PM Post #3 | ||||||||||||
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Edited by Amii, Aug 9 2012, 11:51 PM.
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» pяεττγ ʜ ɑ τ ε мαcнιиε ; ʜ ε ɑ я τ like an open gяɑvε ; moɗ sιиcε: July 14th, 2012 я ε f - c o u и τ: 102 | |||||||||||||
| Amii | Aug 10 2012, 01:48 AM Post #4 | ||||||||||||
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The Main Six
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» pяεττγ ʜ ɑ τ ε мαcнιиε ; ʜ ε ɑ я τ like an open gяɑvε ; moɗ sιиcε: July 14th, 2012 я ε f - c o u и τ: 102 | |||||||||||||
| Amii | Aug 10 2012, 01:49 AM Post #5 | ||||||||||||
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» pяεττγ ʜ ɑ τ ε мαcнιиε ; ʜ ε ɑ я τ like an open gяɑvε ; moɗ sιиcε: July 14th, 2012 я ε f - c o u и τ: 102 | |||||||||||||
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Trick-or-Treat
1x Poketech
3x Poke Balls
3x Great Balls
1x Ultra Ball
2x Luxury Balls
x1 Grand Festival '12 Token
x1 Grand Festival '12 Cabinet Painting
x1 Dream Ticket (Equuz Lv 1)

1/11








:hequis

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:sablice
