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ALVA

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HE / HIM

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SEVENTEEN

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AUGUST 13TH

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EIRENHYRE CITY

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PARALLAX

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RADICAL

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HETEROSEXUAL

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COORDINATOR

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When he is young, the world outside of his room is an enigma.[break][break]

Illness stalks him at every given chance, an acquaintance he's more familiar with sometimes than his own father's face, and even in the brief reprieves that come between days upon days of coughing fits, he's too fatigued to stand and play under the sweltering sun as the other children do. Some might find his earliest childhood days to be tragic in that regard. Isolated, sickly, with only the company of his sharp-edged mother and the skittish maids that never pay him any mind. Others might find it a fair trade off – because he is born into more money than his mind will ever be able to properly wrap itself around, he deserves some form of punishment to set him on equal footing with those who suffer because of the wealth they do not share. Alva, himself, finds that he does not terribly mind. There's nothing to miss about a sky he has never seen, nor does the screaming and roughhousing so frequently accompanying the image of his peers seem particularly enviable. So he sits complacently in his room. He sits, and instead of going out into the world, he watches as his mother brings the rest of the world inside to him. Exotic foods from all over the world, Pokemon found only on the tallest peaks of mountains or in the darkest depths of the ocean, and music of every genre popularized in Johto or Unova or Alola; they're all things that would have taken a lifetime of journeying to collect, and while he may not have the stories to tell to match each object, each creature, each piece, he can make up his own in his mind with every new thing that his parent's workers bring with them, all for him. Only for him. Maybe he will die young, they say, (he thinks). But like this, surrounded by experiences and sights and possessions that most will never see in their lives ten times longer than his own, he doesn't think he particularly minds.[break][break]

The fevers and the doctors go away eventually, though. They leave his life like a breath leaves the lung, and (miserably), everything else he's built his life around leaves with them. (The worst thing to go is the love of his mother.) The ancient books from Hoenn and the Castelia Cones from Hoenn disappear, thieves in the night, and the men and women who have spent his infancy and up trekking across Pokearth's surface have returned to playing cooks in the kitchen or groomers for his mother's prized Pokemon. His room empties overnight. Come the morning, all that remains is his bed, his clothing, and a frighteningly tall stack of books that demands to be read cover to cover come sunrise the following day. Now that there is no threat of the boy being plucked in his prime, the expectations of him that he's been fortunate enough to skirt around for years have finally reared their heads to spit acid in his face; the Faunus family are very powerful, after all, and very well regarded, and if he's to one day inherit the name and the fortune, there is much he is expected to know before he leaves his haven-turned-prison once and for all. In a matter of days, his world, pretty and perfect, is splatter painted black, monochrome, ugly – all of the wonders of the universe die in his memory, crushed under the wait of watchful eyes and standards set so high that even his mightiest leaps and hardest reaches earn him nothing but another slap on the wrist and a look from eyes that used to hold so much love that could kill.[break][break]

(Sometimes, he wishes he really had died. At least he would have passed from this world knowing what it felt like to be wanted - really wanted.)[break][break]

and i'm sad to the core - everything is a chore

At some point, the wicked witch herself comes to the realization that Alva is, by every definition of the phrase, a lost cause. He's by no means a fool, but he's not nearly smart enough. He's crafty, but not nearly creative enough. When he sings, it's on pitch but without vibrato – when he eats, he mixes up the order of his silverware on the table, even if he's sure to keep his elbows off the table (keep his mouth closed the entire duration of the meal). By all means, he'd be a fully functioning member of society. To his mother, he falls short in every way possible, and he is a stain on her family's name. So she ships him off to where all of the reject Faunuses will eventually find themselves: a filthy trailer home in Neurift City, beaten down by weather and stinking heavily of the smoke eating away at his uncle's lungs. (It's all very frightening at first: the home, the smell, the man. At the time, he would never have possibly imagined that this place would eventually feel more than home than anywhere else in the world.)[break][break]

Mother is precision personified, a deadly woman of five foot four who preforms every action with purpose and reels in her own personal universe where not a single hair finds itself out of place. Seeing his uncle stand at her side, a juxtaposition if he has ever seen one in his life, is like seeing a creature from beyond this planet attempting to convene with mankind – dirty communing with detergent, fire playing it off as though it cannot be dosed by (her) water. And when she leaves, limousine pulling out and away with a half hearted promise of reunion and nothing remotely resembling a farewell, he feels as though he's stranded in some alien civilization, trapped here with an extraterrestrial who slurs his words and treats him to fast food of all things as a “welcoming party”. French fries are a delicacy he'd never even known existed before this moment. They look unappetizing in their little paper cup, they leave his fingers feeling greasy and filthy – but they settle warmly in his stomach, and for as unassuming as their appearance may be, they're good. Really, truly good. He wonders idly if people can be like french fries. Ugly, stinking. (Good.)[break][break]

The unfortunate truth is that his uncle has never been, nor likely ever be prepared for the daunting task of raising a child, particularly one whose only ever boasted one (pink haired, beautiful, the salt of the earth) friend in his life and has social skills that may very well be worse than a lonely, isolated Slowpoke in a cave. Still, he tries harder than any that came before and all those that came after (and Alva will come to love him for it all the more later in life). Years of only speaking when spoken to are not so easily undone, and when they finally are, most would agree that the flood gates were almost left better unopened. Mother's little boy breaks out of his shell in a blazing glory, bright, loud, and all consuming. He forms habits that any sensible guardian would have smothered right away – but good ol' uncle knows that self expression and self pride (even if his nephew more than tip toes on the fine line between respecting himself and loving himself) is important in any developing child, even if that leads to (lost) fist fights on the street or a wardrobe that consists of more women's clothing than men's. Everything becomes about the aesthetics – particularly when it comes to Pokemon – and what must be six years have past when the two say their goodbyes, torn apart by ambition and a desire to take the contest world by storm.[break][break]

Desires and reality, however, are rarely one in the same in Alva's life.[break][break]

(Mother wasn't lying, a voice he'd rather not hear says from the depths of his mind, when she said he was a failure.)

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>>> TL;DR

It is hard to miss Alva Faunus in a crowd. Try and try as so many might, overlooking his flamboyant attire and haughty posture – not even to speak of how loud his voice gets – is easier said than done, and this is precisely how this attention hog likes it. A spotlight stealer? That's one way to describe it. Self-centered, well definitely the more favored option. Obnoxious? Ah, there's the word. Unlike those who suffer from a true case of narcissism, however, and even unlike those who cry for attention because they feel as though no one ever gives it to them, Alva's breed of “look at me, look at me!” comes from a healthy dose of self-pride. Er, well. “Healthy” may be debatable. Not everyone can claim to be happy with who they are; a young him, too, could not. Now, though, he's happy with who he is, proud of what he's become, and only wishes to let the world know who Alva Nox Faunus really is. A shame it comes at the cost of eardrums.



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>>> FRIENDSHIP

It's harder for certain people to make friends, whether it be because of a quiet nature or, in the case of the coordinator, a nature very much not that. Truthfully, friends have never come easy, whether it be because of the isolation he suffered as a child, the fact that not everyone approves of a male wearing female clothing, or his general disposition, so he doesn't really know how to make them, much less keep them. Oddly enough, though, this is fine by him. He's never had friends, so he's never put himself through an ordeal that required him to rely on someone. He loves himself enough for two, three, no, a dozen people combined, so why does he need companionship? No, no – he'll take a five dollar bill over a friend any day.

>>> HATESHIP

Self pride and an unbearable ego truly wage war in his head, but all the debris goes flying out of his mouth where only the people around him have to suffer for it. Alva doesn't typically hold grudges, nor does he actively go out of his way to belittle people, but typically arrogant banter often insults people backhandedly without even meaning to, and not everyone can put up with him being so loud all the time. He's quick to be offended (really, insulting his hair is all it will take to get him to gasp in shock and horror) to boot, so if he's managed to irritate someone else... and they manage to irritate him... Well, you know where this goes.

>>> LOVESHIP

A generally unpleasant situation for all, really. Alva is heterosexual, meaning he's into women – but about the only eyes he even managed to attract, if he's lucky enough to get any, are that of other heterosexual males, who are also into women. That dress really does not help in swooning a man-loving female, no sir. The green-haired teen likes to play it off like he's hard to get with standards set too high for any average girl to possibly obtain, but realistically, he crushes hard and for just about anyone, and all too frequently does his poor little heart get stomped all over without the other party knowing there was a heart to stomp on in the first place. Rest in pieces, Alva Faunus.

>>> WANTED

Nothing in particular this time around. Fellow coordinators to kick his butt and knock him down a few pegs would be fun, as well as all the different hijinks one could get up to with a lady-who's-not-really-a-lady. Meeting up isn't difficult because he's... well, he's really hard to miss. Really. Thanks for checking him out. <3