Post by Deleted on Nov 29, 2020 11:25:38 GMT -5
AZRAEL LYON
male | twenty-three | pansexual | trainer | jamil viper, twisted wonderland
male | twenty-three | pansexual | trainer | jamil viper, twisted wonderland
Description:
History:
Goals & Mod Permissions:
Starting Position:
Other:
My member name is PLUTO.
Personality:If you were to ask Azrael what his defining feature would be, he would say his pretty face, though that is just a canned response in result of the years he spent by Ms. Segal's side. Standing at five foot six with a lithe build, he would like to claim that he would have been taller had it not been for early malnourishment. Long dark brown hair reaches down to his hips, most often left free. He can often be found with braids in his hair, though he usually gives up after braid one or two times. Azrael prefers wearing loose-fitting clothing and anything with a hood, though shoes are completely optional in his mind.
A schemer and a flirt, Azrael is a product of the environment he grew up in, through and through. He is a smooth talker, boasting high charisma and the ability to weasel his way out of a sticky situation. He has a way of making someone believe he truly cares about them, when, in truth, he is merely using them for his own personal gain. His selfishness is limitless, and he almost always looks out for himself before others. The only exceptions are to those he gets too close to or those he sees a benefit to helping. For the former, he may try to push them away once he realizes how he feels about them, but the desire to keep them happy and safe often trumps his attempts.
Considering what Azrael has gone through, he has grown numb to certain subjects and emotions. Fear rarely seizes hold of him, and he can be considered recklessly brave in the face of danger. Death no longer bothers him like it used to, though there are still some nights where the past comes back to haunt him.
The obedience trained into him still manages to resurface, and Azrael has a tendency to follow any command given if the tone is right. His loyalty and trust is rarely earned, and he is immediately suspicious of anyone who approaches, masking it behind the charming smile on his lips. Yet, to the few who manage to push past that and chip away the walls he has built, they will find a boy that never quite found his place in life, one that yearns for those he can trust the most.
History:
He never had a name growing up.
He had been on the streets for as long as he could remember, and his survival during his most vulnerable years was thanks only to the pity of wild Pokemon living in the alleys of Dahara City, Kalos. A stray Furfrou, whose fur was matted and brown, and a long Furret kept him warm at night, while a Hawlucha and Stunky would tag team local vendors to steal food for him to eat. He was running on all fours before he could even walk on two legs, and his climbing skills would make a Mankey proud.
He was barely seven years old when concerned locals notified officials after seeing him join in on a food run for the first time. Cornering him only made him bite the hand that reached out to him, startling them enough for him to make his escape as the Hawlucha toppled a dumpster to block their path. Dahara City was vast and densely populated; it was easy for them to flee into the streets and lose the after disappearing into the sewers.
They set up residence in an alley across the city, finding makeshift shelter already set up. As it would turn out, that alley was already occupied by a homeless man well in his eighties. He was hesitant with his presence at first, but the old man posed no threat to them. He brought an apple to the old man as a peace offering and was met with a tired laugh and words he could not understand.
A friendship was forged. Slowly but surely, his interactions with the old man allowed him to pick up on his language, and he was saying simple, fragmented sentences by the end of the year. According to the old man, he was like an open book with his expressions, but it was easier to communicate with him once he was no longer barking and chirping.
Their time together was short lived. Winter was harsh, yet even the additional body heat of the alleyway Pokemon could not prevent the old man from succumbing to the cold. He had never encountered death until then, and he did not know how to process it. He simply thought the old man was sleeping. He tried waking him up and bringing food so he could eat, despite the efforts of the Pokemon to stop him. It did not sink in until the second week, and tears began to stream down his face, leaving trails in the dirt caked on his cheeks.
They moved to a different alley after that, and it was there that he met a group of teenagers that were more than happy to incapacitate his Pokemon with Sleep Powder and Hypnosis before doing the same to him. He woke up in a condemned building a few blocks away, his hands tied behind his back and a cloth tied around his head to prevent him from speaking. A woman in high heels and a fur coat slowly made his way over, inspecting the still sleeping forms of the alley Pokemon, now locked away in cages. She stopped in front of him and crouched down, snatching his chin and forcing his head to turn left and right as she looked him over.
A growl ripped at his throat as he bared his teeth, earning a smile from the woman. "You will do nicely, boy."
Aliénor Segal was her name. The mastermind behind a large criminal network that had planted its roots in Dehara City, she was no woman to mess with if you valued your own life and the lives of those you love. What she enjoyed most was finding the diamonds in the rough littered throughout the region. She wanted to cut and polish them into the gemstones she knew they could be, but only if they remained beneath her thumb. He was no different, a feral child with unlimited potential.
He was not allowed to step foot outside for the next three years during her training process. He was cleaned up, finally washing away the years of dirt and grime caked onto his skin and hair. His skills were tested, and he was more formally taught how to speak and read, the latter of which he struggled with the most. Yet, he was never named, merely referred to as the boy. It was easier for her to remember.
Gradually, she earned his obedience, though his trust and loyalty were another matter. As long as he did what he was told, she did not care in the slightest. He eventually earned his Pokemon back, though he did not recognize the Furfrou at first. She had the dog groomed while the rest were merely bathed. The pink hearts were a little much.
After passing all of the final inspections, he was finally allowed to leave the building for the first time in years. His immediate impulse was to scale the trash cans and try to get as high up as he could to find the sun, but a hand grabbed hold of his shirt and yanked him back down before he could. Thus began the next decade of his life, acting as Ms. Segal's errand boy. Since he was well-groomed (by force until he got into the habit of brushing his own hair), he no longer had to worry about the locals calling child services on him. He was allowed to run all over the city, the Dandy Furfrou by his side acting as a barrier between him and anyone that would question his origins.
He became well-acquainted with the inner workings of her criminal empire. He knew every important figurehead by name, and he even earned favor with those lower on the totem pole by remembering most of their names as well. He started out simply by delivering packages and orders when Ms. Segal wanted something done quickly and efficiently without the risk of someone listening into phone calls or over radio frequencies.
After reaching thirteen, she began to keep him closer to her side. He had a pretty face, and she wanted to cultivate the skills he would need to use it to his advantage. Charisma was an easy thing to learn, especially as his vocabulary grew stronger and he became more comfortable around strangers. What was not, however, was when he was ordered to kill someone at barely fifteen. The act itself was easy, almost second nature. It was the aftermath that followed that he could never grow accustomed to. He learned to leave as soon as the job was done, never sticking around longer than was necessary. It kept him up at night for the first two years until he grew numb to it.
The life he had grown accustomed to was ripped away not long after turning twenty. There was a police raid on the compound, and instinct seized hold of him before he could be discovered. He fled into the night, disappearing without a trace. He never saw Ms. Segal again, though he knew she was too smart to be caught.
He did not stay on the streets for too long. Thanks to a pretty face and smooth words, it was easy to find a place to stay, even if it meant couch surfing for the first few months. He soon found himself rooming with a man twice his age that insisted he called him Uncle Amani. It was through him that he finally received a name, as well as a forged ID to go along with it. Azrael Lyon. Despite naming him, Uncle Amani was more keen on calling him Azzy.
With a proper name, he could have finally started living a proper life for himself: get a job, save some money, and eventually move out. Old habits die hard, and he was pickpocketing and stealing food again before he knew it. While Uncle Amani was no saint himself, he did not want to see Azrael follow this road for the rest of his life. He dragged Azrael to the harbor and handed him a boarding pass and a Pokeball. The rest of his Pokemon would be left in Dahara City with Uncle Amani, lacking their own Pokeballs and most too old to make the trip now.
He was not fond of the idea of leaving his family behind, but one look from Uncle Amani was enough to make him reluctantly turn around and board the ship. He spent the first month finding his sea legs and acquainting himself with the Fletchling that had been inside the Pokeball. Another month passed before they arrived in the Ascua Region, far from the street life he had grown so accustomed to.
Goals & Mod Permissions:
Goal: If you ask him, he has no idea what he is doing. He has no clear plan for life, though he does intend on challenging the league. That, however, is all part of Uncle Amani's plan, not his. His biggest personal goal would be to figure out where to go from here, whether that means diving back into old habits and crime or turning a new leaf and not sullying the name he was given.
Permission: Mods are free to use anyone mentioned in his history (under the assumption they would cross regions) and his Pokemon as needed.
Starting Position:
Beginner
Other:
> When he's left with nothing else to do, Azrael will braid his hair as a way to waste time.
> He will also twirl his hair between his fingers when he is thinking.
> If your Meowth gets stuck in a tree, he's the one to call. His climbing skills rival that of a Mankey.
> Often hums to himself. He sings in the shower, but only the shower.
> He has sticky fingers. Keep your valuables close.
> His reading skills are still lacking, and it can take him a while to piece things together.
> Math is no different. Either do it yourself or hand him a calculator.
> Despite having the words to express himself, he may still growl at you. He is also quite skilled at mimicking the calls of bird Pokemon.
> While he has no preference in typing, he does enjoy canine, avian, and snake Pokemon.
My member name is PLUTO.
| male | minus | field | azrael lyon