TWO YEARS AGO, A CRIMINAL ORGANIZATION GOING BY THE NAME TEAM IMUM WRECKED CHAOS ACROSS THE LAND, DAMAGING CITIES AND KILLING THOUSANDS OF CITIZENS. While Imum itself has long since been disbanded, however, the region remains broken: entire towns have been laid to waste and the Association struggles to find homes for those who were lucky enough to survive the attempted genocide. Reconstruction trudges on as usual... but with three factions - the Association, the corporations, and the people - each wishing to take the rebuilding of an entire region down opposite paths, how long will it be before Lyeant's last leg gives out permanently?
03.01
first activity check is currently underway. regardless of your green status, please be sure to check it out and make extra sure your characters make it safe and sound after the eighth of march.
01.28
we're officially re-opened! come check out our event, the pokeathlon forever to enjoy some fresh restart activities. let leap know if there are any skin bugs, and they'll be sorted out accordingly!
Care to hear about our lord and savior Operation: Mindcrime? In all seriousness: Hello, hello! I'm Pharaoh Leap – or just Leap – local head admin and rock opera enthusiast. On the rare chance you catch me in a time when I'm not bawling about characters entirely written into song, you may see me actually doing work around the site, like skinning, making too many characters, and encouraging others to also make too many characters. I only know how to write angst, and in no fewer than six trillion words an app or post, so if you like dying while reading like I like dying while writing, I'm the girl for you. ;o
Howdy guys! The names Astro and I am your resident Brit & Red muse (you'll honestly see me more on him than any of my other characters). I'm a moderator and my main job is to make sure everything is running smoothly so the Admins can focus on other things, you'll often see me within the apps and shops, etc when I'm not on Red. What can I say about myself? Apart from being a Red fanboy I like music and games and yaoi huehue, I honestly never now what to put into these sort of things but ohwell, I'm more of a "ask me and I'll tell" sorta guy. Anyway, from my personally I hope that you enjoy the site and what we produce here but also if you're new, please look around and if you like what you see please consider joining for rad plots that everyone gives! :D
Hey there~ Nano over here! I uh.. Wait, I'm doing this right, right? Bleh. So I'm a moderator over here - fun, fun - who kind of just.. Keeps an eye on everyone. You know, the whole app thing and what not. Uh.. Lets see.. When I'm not doing school work (because I may or may not be trying to be a good student) I'm probably storming up new ideas like events and etc. Or plots. Plots are always good, too. As you can see, I uh.. Have the horrible habit of making way too many characters. I swear, I was tempted with plots, ships and angst. It's like, the holy trinity. Uh.. What else is there about me? Oh, right! Please excuse my obnoxiousness. I'm just really loud in general so don't be surprised if I start screaming as loudly as I can caps. So yeah. Nice meeting you!
tbe: take two! is inspired by, but not associated with nintendo's pokemon franchise. the current skin was created by pharaoh leap using font icons primarily from ion icons and fonts from google fonts. banner art by vav of pixiv. characters, with the exception of canons from the manga, belong to the members who write them, and all posts and templates on site are credited to their respective authors and artists. we claim nothing that is not ours.
● makes kissy faces at self in mirror[break] ● impossible to miss anywhere[break] ● only has good taste in fashion
[attr="class","daytmiiprofile"]
alva's profile
*sucks in breath* whyyyyy would you want thisssssss.[break][break]
a cross-dresser for the sole reason that girl's fashion is better than boy's fashion, and gender constructs are an illusion. alva loves himself, first and foremost, although he supposes, if he were to meet a pretty girl (and only girl) who meets his high standards, he could make a little room for love for them in his heart. he's actually kind of an incorrigible flirt - which is tragically counteracted by the fact that most of the heterosexual women he specifically hits on end up mistaking him for a girl and shoot him down for that second, his bad attitude first - although he's never actually slept with anyone, and probably would fall way too in love with the first person to take him up on his wildly exaggerated offers.[break][break]
pretends to be a "cool kid" who gets to sleep with all of the hottest ladies around. is actually the kind of guy to pull out a keyboard in your front lawn and sing (read: sob) you cheesy serenades he wrote himself until three in the morning. definitely looking for a partner, though there probably isn't a person in the world looking for a partner like him.
Post by ALVA FAUNUS on Feb 23, 2018 23:30:36 GMT -6
[nospaces]
[attr="class","opcont"]
[attr="class","oppost"]
[attr="class","optext"]
Alva was not an arrogant man (boy), of which he was quick toassure anyone who dared to ask or, even, potentially insinuate with so much as a single raised eyebrow of a look. No, no, Alva was just a man (boy) who understood his talents and capacity for improvement better than those around him. Almost everyone around him, apparently. He was, as they said, “ahead of his time”, a genius who had yet to be recognized, a true painter of his time – although he really hoped it didn't take getting buried six feet underground for people to suddenly have the epiphany that showed them the splendor of his works. No, he'd like that Nobel Prize alive, please and thank you very much. There was no shame in taking pride in ones accomplishments or ability to adapt to any and all situations that they may find themselves in, so he held no shame at all in making his accomplishments known for all the world to hear – not did he hold an ounce of shame in correcting the oh-so blatant mistakes made by those who had simply... missed his obvious charm, or those aforementioned accomplishments.[break][break]
He knew models (in a world that idolized them, it'd be hard not to), and he knew his reflection. Why, he knew his reflection better than he knew his multiplication tables or his alphabet or the French language, the last of those being something he was certainly proficient in, and so there should have been no doubts about it when he claimed that his outward image was at least on par with those cranked out through Alstromeria's ever-helpful funding. And yet, when he had told this to the head hanchos just the other day after slipping into their hands an absolutely stunning portfolio of his personal work (photographed, unfortunately, with his PokeGear, because genius did not equal a large pool of friends – or any at all, in his case – with which to choose a photographer from), they had all but laughed in his face, and if that hadn't been enough to confirm that they would not be getting back to him in the following days, that aforementioned PokeGear and its loudly ringing silence truly did seal the deal. But he knew better than they did. What would strangers, after all, know of his modeling prowess? What did it matter that they were professionals and he was but a lowly teenager attempting to crawl his way up through the ranks of coordination? Which, he would note, would be made significantly easier with a bit of modeling slapped onto his already frighteningly impressive resume.[break][break]
So the obvious answer to this problem was to break into their building and steal the spotlight at the next shoot. Obviously.[break][break]
Sneaking in wasn't even the difficult part, truthfully. His skills in stealth had developed faster than his skills in Pokemon coordination – which was to say, they had developed at all – and slipping in through the back undetected was a breeze. Perhaps it was the added bonus of his hair and clothing's outrageous palettes leading no right minded human being to think of him, too, as being another human being, but rather yet another bizarre looking prop or piece of apparel tossed haphazardly in with the rest; too many times had he been passed while hiding in a clothing rack only to hear the passerby hiss something along the lines of “Who would wear that garish thing?” under their breath. They didn't know the half of it.[break][break]
Alva's plan, as most of them did, was going perfectly smoothly, so much that he stopped preparing for failure, as he usually did, just in time for failure to find him... as it always did. Most of the staff had cleared out long enough for him to abandon his clothing rack covers, but just as he'd assumed himself home free down an empty corridor, the worst possible sight entered into his field of vision: Another human being. (Important note: significantly less fashionable than he.) Well – shoot. But this was still salvageable. Probably.[break][break]
“I'm not trespassing, you're trespassing!”[break][break]
okay, so i haven't written as alva in forever, and whooooo boy did i not realize how much i missed it. he's just so. punchable. and dumb. i love it. i'm so sorry, freya.
when i was a young boy, my mama said to me: once a woman gets your soul, you'll never shake her free. these are words of wisdom, and it turned out she was right. gotta find a lover, 'cause i need a fix tonight. look inside - i stop, i stare. gotta get a taste. pretty women everywhere. we ain't got time. lookin' for a little time, i'll hunt you down, i'm walkin' like a man. i'm addicted to the rush, never get enough, 'cause i'm addicted to that rush.
Looking at the two, you probably wouldn't be able to tell that they get along. Actually, um, they don't. Despite how much they bicker and argue, though, the rare chance these two get together usually ends in some form of buddy-buddy antics that leave them on good terms no matter how much they argued before. Alva actually has a minor crush on Frieda - but she's not cute enough for a trophy wife.
And then you can write about that relation here! Move in to fire at the mainstream of bombers. Let off a sharp burst, and then turn away. Roll over, spin 'round, and come in behind them. Move to their blindsides and fire again. Bandits at 8 o'clock move in behind, ten ME-109's out of the sun. Ascending and turning our spitfires to face them; heading straight for them, I press down my guns.
A boy locked away, silent for years, broken free of a shell forced around him and proud to let the world around him know it. It would be a difficult task for certain to claim that one has not noticed Alva Faunus in a room at any particular time, if only for the fact that almost every word and every action he speaks or preforms is done with the intent to catch the eye of those around him. He thrives in the spotlight, fearful of the way he may cripple and starve without it, and isn't afraid to go to the furthest lengths to ensure that it's focused on him at all times. To some, this makes him out to be charming – talkative, the life of the party even when there's no party being held. To most, however, this makes him out to be obnoxious more than anything, although those who would label him as such wouldn't be wrong in doing so. Butting head first into other people's conversations, yelling over crowds, doing something obscene if only for the attention it demands... the list could go on. His ability to pull such brazen stunts roots itself in his resistance to shame, self confidence that supersedes any embarrassment or regret that he may have felt otherwise. “Self confidence” being a light way of putting it, anyway; in truth, his ego could probably span the entirety of the region should it be put in physical form, and even that may not be a large enough area to hold the entire volume of it. So much of his life was spent thinking so little of himself that, when he realized that he not only met but, in some cases, exceeded the average standards of the rest of society, his self image bloated to what most can agree is an unhealthy state. (Never mind that little voice in the back of his mind, whispering quietly all of his failures. The louder he speaks, the less likely he is to hear it and its venomous words.)[break][break]
He is a man of little drive, wasting his precious time and feeding his years away to the grinder if only because it is an easier task than putting it to good use. Conversely, the green-haired boy has been known to throw himself at specific tasks or goals with frightening enthusiasm and determination, although almost always as a result of being challenged or told that it's something beyond his ability. There's not better way of getting him to do one thing or another than convincing him that you believe he cannot; once told as much, he'll go above and beyond to prove that such isn't the case (even if he tends to fail in the end, anyway). Similarly, he also has been known to stick his neck out for those who need it, even if it goes against his typically lazy nature and nearly all encompassing self interest – opening doors, helping people pick up dropped objects, sticking beside “the underdog” - although these incidents are usually brushed off with a weak explanation of him trying to “save face.” The media, after all, loves to fawn over every day heroes. What better a way to get his karmas in check and the news reporter's flocking to his door than saving a poor Purrloin trapped in a tree? In matters of life or death, though, it's more than safe to assume that he'll be saving himself over anyone else. He's not a man who makes true, strong attachments very easily, if at all, and for someone with so much love for themselves and not much for those around them, it'd be hard to imagine him throwing himself in the way of a bus in order to spare the life of a stranger or acquaintance. He's not beyond pushing people to the wolves, either, for personal gain, typically of the monetary variety. Cash calls his name louder than friendship. Cash, too, can buy you happiness – friendship can only lead to heartbreak.
i know i've got a big ego[break] i really don't know why it's such a big deal, though
[attr="class","taketwoapplicationtab2bot"]
[attr="class","taketwoapplicationtab2bot2"]
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.)
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.
[break][break]
>>> 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.
#1 FAN Despite claiming to be the latest rising star in the contest industry, he is, in fact, terrible at his passion. Not everyone is of good taste, though, and its possible for even just one person in the crowd to see his fumbling and mistakes and think it... almost charming, really. This person would be the first to compliment his coordination work, and he'd be taken with them immediately – insisting to show them tricks of the trade, putting on “VIP shows”, the whole nine yards. Once you've admitted he's not terrible, sorry, you're stuck here for life.[break][break]
CUTE AS A BUTTON While his coordination skills are lacking, his taste in fashion – at least, as far as girls' fashion is concerned – is second to none. I love the idea of him meeting up with another cute face claimed character (probably a girl, in this case) and having them mutually gush over frilly dresses and how best to style your hair. Can Alva count as a “best girl friend” if he's really a guy? Hm.
>>> 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.
RIVAL COORDINATORS “Rival”, of course, being loosely used here – traditional rivals typical have to be about par in regards to skill, and this bozo will undoubtedly be far beneath your coordinator. Alva likes to write checks with his mouth his... literally anything else can't cash, particularly when it comes to contests, so its of little doubt that he's talked himself up to someone about how hard he's going to kick their butt – only for them to consistently kick his.
>>> 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.
DUDE LOOKS LIKE A LADY From across the way, you see her: curly green hair, skirt raised a touch too high, curves that could drive a man like you wild. You propose coffee; she rejects you by screaming “For the love of Arceus, I'm not gay!”[break][break]
THANKS HEAVENS FOR BISEXUALS Realistically, if he's ever going to get a girlfriend, she'd have to be: a) crazy, b) bisexual, or c) some combination of the two. Most females he approaches assume him to be female himself at a glance and reject most of his advances for it, assuming they're not the sort to “swing that way”, so meeting someone who doesn't mind when he's “female” or that he's actually a dude who just really likes cute clothing would be... well, about as close to a godsend as he could find.
>>> 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
[attr="class","alvapostname2"]I'M RIPPIN' UP A RAG DOLL LIKE THROWIN' AWAY AN OLD TOY. SOME BABE'S TALKIN' REAL LOUD, TALKIN' ALL ABOUT THE NEW CROWD. TRY AND TELL ME OF AN OLD DREAM.
[attr="class","alvapost3"]
[attr="class","alvapostslant1"]
[attr="class","alvapost31"]
Rag doll, livin' in a movie. Hot tramp, daddy's little cutie. You're so fine. They'll never see you leavin' by the back door, ma'am. Hot time, get it while it's easy. Don't mind – come on up and see me. Rag doll, baby, won't you do me like you done before? I'm feelin' like a bad boy. Mm, just like a bad boy. I'm rippin' up a rag doll like throwin' away an old toy. Some babe's talkin' real loud, talkin' all about the new crowd. Try and tell me of an old dream, a new version of the old scene. Speak easy on the grape vine, keep shufflin' in a shoe shine. Old tin lizzy, do it till you're dizzy, give it all ya' got until you're put out of your misery. Rag doll, livin' in a movie. Hot tramp, daddy's little cutie. You're so fine. They'll never see you leavin' by the back door, ma'am. Hot time, get it while it's easy. Don't mind – come on up and see me. Rag doll, baby, won't you do me like you done before?[break][break]
Yes, I'm movin'. Yes, I'm movin'. Get ready for the big time, tap dancin' on a land mine. Yes, I'm movin'. Yes, I'm movin'. Old tin lizzy, do it till you're dizzy, give it all ya' got until you're put out of your misery. Rag doll, livin' in a movie. Hot tramp, daddy's little cutie. You're so fine. They'll never see you leavin' by the back door, ma'am. Hot time, get it while it's easy. Don't mind – come on up and see me. Rag doll, baby, won't you do me like you done before?[break][break]
Yes, I'm movin'. Yes, I'm movin'. Get ready for the big time, get crazy on the moon shine. Yes, I'm movin', I'm really movin'. Sloe Gin Fizzy, do it till you're dizzy, give it all ya' got until you're put out of your misery. Rag doll, livin' in a movie. Hot tramp, daddy's little cutie. You're so fine. They'll never see you leavin' by the back door, ma'am. Hot time, get it while it's easy. Don't mind – come on up and see me. Rag doll, baby, won't you do me like you done before? Rag doll, livin' in a movie. Hot tramp, daddy's little cutie. You're so fine. They'll never see you leavin' by the back door, ma'am. Hot time, get it while it's easy. Don't mind – come on up and see me. Rag doll, baby, won't you do me like you done before?
look like a girl, but i think like a guy. not lady-like to behave like a slime. easy to be something when you've got a dirty mind. you stick to your yogurts, i'll stick to my apple pie. girls are not meant to fight dirty, never look a day past thirty. not gonna bend over and curtsy for you. is there any possibility you'll quit gossipin' about me to hide your insecurities? all you say is: "blah, blah". girls, they never befriend me, 'cause i fall asleep when they speak of all the calories they eat. all i hear is: "nah, nah, nah, nah, nah".
A boy locked away, silent for years, broken free of a shell forced around him and proud to let the world around him know it. It would be a difficult task for certain to claim that one has not noticed Alva Faunus in a room at any particular time, if only for the fact that almost every word and every action he speaks or preforms is done with the intent to catch the eye of those around him. He thrives in the spotlight, fearful of the way he may cripple and starve without it, and isn't afraid to go to the furthest lengths to ensure that it's focused on him at all times. To some, this makes him out to be charming – talkative, the life of the party even when there's no party being held. To most, however, this makes him out to be obnoxious more than anything, although those who would label him as such wouldn't be wrong in doing so. Butting head first into other people's conversations, yelling over crowds, doing something obscene if only for the attention it demands... the list could go on. His ability to pull such brazen stunts roots itself in his resistance to shame, self confidence that supersedes any embarrassment or regret that he may have felt otherwise. “Self confidence” being a light way of putting it, anyway; in truth, his ego could probably span the entirety of the region should it be put in physical form, and even that may not be a large enough area to hold the entire volume of it. So much of his life was spent thinking so little of himself that, when he realized that he not only met but, in some cases, exceeded the average standards of the rest of society, his self image bloated to what most can agree is an unhealthy state. (Never mind that little voice in the back of his mind, whispering quietly all of his failures. The louder he speaks, the less likely he is to hear it and its venomous words.)[break][break]
He is a man of little drive, wasting his precious time and feeding his years away to the grinder if only because it is an easier task than putting it to good use. Conversely, the green-haired boy has been known to throw himself at specific tasks or goals with frightening enthusiasm and determination, although almost always as a result of being challenged or told that it's something beyond his ability. There's not better way of getting him to do one thing or another than convincing him that you believe he cannot; once told as much, he'll go above and beyond to prove that such isn't the case (even if he tends to fail in the end, anyway). Similarly, he also has been known to stick his neck out for those who need it, even if it goes against his typically lazy nature and nearly all encompassing self interest – opening doors, helping people pick up dropped objects, sticking beside “the underdog” - although these incidents are usually brushed off with a weak explanation of him trying to “save face.” The media, after all, loves to fawn over every day heroes. What better a way to get his karmas in check and the news reporter's flocking to his door than saving a poor Purrloin trapped in a tree? In matters of life or death, though, it's more than safe to assume that he'll be saving himself over anyone else. He's not a man who makes true, strong attachments very easily, if at all, and for someone with so much love for themselves and not much for those around them, it'd be hard to imagine him throwing himself in the way of a bus in order to spare the life of a stranger or acquaintance. He's not beyond pushing people to the wolves, either, for personal gain, typically of the monetary variety. Cash calls his name louder than friendship. Cash, too, can buy you happiness – friendship can only lead to heartbreak.
i know i've got a big ego[break] i really don't know why it's such a big deal, though
[attr="class","tbeapponebio"]
[attr="class","tbeapponebio2"]
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 - every day 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.)
