Post by ¿Piez? on Nov 28, 2009 16:48:43 GMT -5
[NAME] Jesse ("Jess") Malone
[SPECIES] Leafeon
[GENDER] Male
[AGE] 17
[ALLIANCE] Rebellious Rogue. Formerly CODA.
[ABILITIES] His wounds and physical ailments are slightly relieved while he's in sunlight. He also doesn't get as hungry as a normal person or eat as much; he gets half his energy from food and the other half from photosynthesis. Should be be denied sunlight for any reason he will become frail and eventually die after a couple weeks without the sun's rays. The air around him is clear and clean.
[MOVES]
. Tackle . Tail Whip . Helping Hand . Sand Attack .
. Razor Leaf . Quick Attack . Synthesis . Magical Leaf .
. Giga Drain . Last Resort . Grasswhistle . Sunny Day .
. Leaf Blade . Swords Dance . Growl . Bite .
. Baton Pass . Take Down . Trump Card .
. Iron Tail [TM] . Double Team [TM] . X-Scissor [TM] .
[DESCRIPTION]
Jess is far from your typical idea of a "Leafeon Pokemorph". Most people imagine some sort of cute humanoid with leaves for ears. While he does indeed bear the trademark leaves of his species (ears, tail, arms, legs, chest, shoulders, forehead), he's also deformed by several other odd traits. For one Jess has no thumbs. His hands are stubby paws that barely resemble human hands at all, and are practically useless when it comes to doing a lot of the things a "normal" person would do. He often subconsciously finds himself hunching over slightly, as if headed into an all-fours position. While he can stand up straight, and while he can stand on all fours, he is most comfortable in this "halfway" position, and most of the time he doesn't even notice he's situated that way. He runs fastest on all fours, however. His whole body is covered by a thin coat of fur that thickens out into fluffy tufts here and there. He's tall and thin; lanky. Jess once had blonde hair, but this is now only recognizable in faint streaks that line the cream-colored mess of hair and fur on his head. His face stretches into a slight muzzle shape. Perhaps the strangest thing about him is his eyes, though. They're rather large, and they are a strange blend of blue and brown. He wears baggy, dark clothes to conceal his identity as a Pokemorph (with little success most of the time). The blue collar around his neck is large and scratched up, the result of failed attempts to break it and get it off.
[PERSONALITY]
Jess is dark. No, not emo or goth or whatever, but very dark. He views everything in an extremely pessimistic way, believing that things can and always will get worse. His pessimism leads to automatic assumptions about situations often. He will accept whatever grim future he expects to be the truth, if only to save himself the pain of realizing later that things turned out worse than he'd thought. Jesse's life is a battle against optimism. A prolonged fight to keep himself from feeling hurt.
Of course he gets hurt anyways. Little things get to him, like being patronized or knowing that people are afraid of him. While he is good at acting and can hide his true feelings for a while he really is more emotional than he'd like to let anybody else think. Bottling in sorrow eats at him from the inside and only makes things worse when he takes the time to let his emotions loose. Loosing his cool or having a breakdown in public are embarrassing things that Jess avoids at all costs, but when he's all alone late at night he will often sob to himself or vent out his frustration. While he may act snappy or threatening to get people to leave him alone, deep down he's just a typical frustrated teenager. Well, yanno. Plus some Pokemon DNA. That doesn't really help much.
His transformation has made him more aggressive and defensive. In his typical pessimistic manner he knows (or thinks) nobody will accept him for what he is, and makes it a point to conceal everything about himself. If anyone tries to break through his shell he will retaliate with anger and possibly even violence (though he does hate hurting people). However, all he really wants is someone who truly cares for him. Prove to him that such a person exists and his depressed attitude may just turn around...
[HISTORY]
Jess was an odd kid.
He was deaf for twelve minutes after he was born, he almost died from the common cold twice as a baby, and he was the sort of imaginitive child who got into arguments with his cereal in the morning. His parents spoiled him, treating him like an angel. This was probably because his mother's first child had been stillborn and doctors told her she probably wouldn't be able to have any more children. They wanted to cherish the one child they'd ever have.
Despite how happy and peaceful the family seemed on the surface, however, things were far from well. Jess' father was a serious alcoholic, and his mother was usually at work, too busy to spend much time with her son and husband. On top of that they found that they'd started to disagree on... pretty much every issue. Money, politics, parenting... The only thing they really had in common anymore was their love for their son. And they did agree that he shouldn't grow up thinking his parents hated each other. So they told him otherwise. Jess grew up believing the innocent lie that his mommy and daddy loved each other very much, and that they would always stay together forever.
Needless to say, when daddy started throwing beer bottles at mommy, it became pretty obvious what was really going on.
Things got a hell of a lot worse by the time Jess was eight. His father was more aggressive, and his mother was more controlling. They would yell and have loud arguments almost every other night, and what little time was spent with Jess became time to tell him, "It's okay; we're just going through some stress; it isn't your fault..."
The realization that he had been lied to by his own parents was a harsh blow to little Jesse's innocent mindset. He became somewhat depressed and stopped caring about the little activities he used to enjoy, like soccer. Instead he retreated to art, the one thing he felt he was truly good at. Jess couldn't paint, but he'd always loved drawing and sketching. Even at the age of eight his drawings were expressive and meaningful. With the pain inflicted by the revelation that his parents were no more than hateful liars his art took a sorrowful turn. He would draw exaggerated and grim pictures depicting the demons of his life. But of course his artwork, sad and beautiful as it was, went unnoticed by his quarrelling parents. Figures. They had better things to do than look at their own son's creative developments. Like fighting over bills and refraining from hitting each other.
For some reason his mother seemed surprised that Jesse was 'depressed', and she began taking him to a child therapist immediately. At first he wasn't interested in the slightest, but then the therapist showed interest in the one thing that still had meaning to the poor kid: his drawings. She would ask to see his latest works every time he came in, and he would bring notebooks full of pencil sketches and dramatic abstract depictions of his reality. Occasionally she would say to his mother, "Your son makes very beautiful artwork." His mother would simply shrug it off or change the subject after a bit of light conversation. His therapist wasn't like anyone else in his life. Teachers were only interested in his learning ability, and friends were only interested in casual things, and parents were only interested in convincing him everything was okay (when it clearly wasn't). But his therapist was interested in him. She wanted to know about his life, why he felt the ways he did, and what things really meant to him. His two years of therapy between the ages of eight and ten were depressing, but at least he had a sweet escape to savor once or twice a week.
That is, until his father found out. Jesse's father was a simple man who believed therapy and pills and doctors and all those sorts of things were trash that would corrupt a mind in a heartbeat. When he learned his wife had been talking Jesse to therapy for two years, he exploded in a fit of rage. Jess happened to be in a therapy session when his father learned of it, and his father came to the actual building to take him away from the "twisted" woman who had been "filling his head with lies". Jess never saw his beloved therapist again.
After a few weeks of prolonged war between his parents, Jesse's mother got a small apartment and wisked him away to live with her. She told him they were only separating for a little while, to calm down and settle their differences peacefully. He was done believing her lies, though.
Jess adjusted to a new school, as well as a few new therapists. But these therapists weren't like his last one. She had been his therapist, the one he trusted, the only adult in his life that mattered who wasn't family. These therapists were no more than head-doctors. They were mostly male, and they all spoke in such a passionless monotone that he could barely stand to listen to them talk. They would say bland, obvious things about his life ("Oh, so your parents are separated? That makes you sad, doesn't it?") and blatantly patronize him. They didn't even care about his artwork, even when he mentioned it. Worst of all they gave his mother pills for him to take. He didn't need pills. He needed someone who cared. Someone who would listen to him. Not a bunch of people who wanted him to listen to them.
After four years of empty therapy and moving from apartment-to-apartment, it didn't surprise nor bother Jesse when he spotted his mother one morning filling out divorce papers. She caught him looking and called him over for a long, drawn-out coversation about how things just didn't work out. How everything would be okay now. How it wasn't his fault. How it wasn't his fault. How it wasn't his fault, again and again... Of course it wasn't his fault. He didn't ask for this. It wasn't his problem anymore. He didn't care. He saw his dad every now and then after that, but he simply deteriorated without his relationship. Every time Jess went to see him for a weekend or a holliday the man would spend most of his time on the couch, drinking and watching television. His mom continued working at an office for C.O.D.A. as she had been for years. Nothing really changed. The therapy ended soon after the official divorce, and he was glad of it. He got an Electrike for his fifteenth birthday. His mother meant it as a sign that he should do something with his life; become a trainer, go on an adventure, leave this crappy little apartment world he hated so much. He named it 'Artemis' and kept it as a house pet.
As before, the only thing that still held meaning for Jess was his drawings. He'd improved. And he steadily kept improving. In high school he took an advanced drawing class. He found something to build his life with, at last. If he could go to college, take this further... Perhaps his future wouldn't be so grim. Perhaps he could escape this world and get a real education, a real career. He could be happy, for once...
... Yahhh - not gonna happen.
Taking a bus home one day after school Jesse Malone disappeared from society. Blink. Gone. Nowhere to be found. Didn't return home that night, didn't come to school the next morning, didn't even feed Artemis at five-o-clock as he did every day. Vanished, without a trace.
Of course, CODA was responsible. When he found out he wondered if his mother had knowledge of this. She probably couldn't have; she worked in an office building in Goldenrod where data was processed and meaningless phone numbers were called. Meanwhile her son was being shipped off to a laboratory by Mt.Silver where he would probably be turned into some kind of mutant science experiment. And of course, the lab workers there told him about how he would contribute to history, fighting off the rebels and ultimately saving the region from a dark future of anarchy and chaos... Yeah. He'd stopped believing lies when he was ten years old.
CODA stole Jesse's future. Of all the experiences he'd hated in his life, his transformation was the one that really made him believe he was somehow cursed with misfortune. He could barely stand to tolerate it. His hands, the beloved hands he'd used to create countless pictures of countless meaningful things, were twisted into crooked shapes that would never be physically capable of drawing anything again. Pale fur and green leaves sprouted from his flesh, giving him the appearance of a social reject that no person in the right mind would accept for what he was: a human being who needed to be loved. He had nothing after that. He wouldn't have a high school graduation. He wouldn't go to college. He wouldn't have an art career to pursue. All he had now was a collection of stupid Pokemon powers and an uncomfortable blue collar around his neck.
He endured it for as long as he had to. Jess was emotional, but he could play dumb for a while before snapping. As soon as CODA let him run off with a group of other Pokemorphs, he took his chance to sneak away. He wasn't about to serve the crooked organization that took away his only opportunity to be happy in his life, then turned around and claimed to be 'just' and 'good'. There didn't seem to be any attempts at retrieving him. During his short stay at the lab he hadn't acted aggressive or shown any signs that he would try to run away or escape or anything. They probably just assumed he got lost. He did, however, manage to break the phone piece on his collar by smashing it into a wall for a couple hours (this gave him a few days of a sore neck, but it was well worth it).
Since he wasn't keen on wandering around naked he knew he had to go to desperate measures to obtain clothing. Once he bravely made his way into a clothing store casually. When the store's shoppers and staff looked ready to do something about his presence he yelled, "Everybody get out of the f*cking way! I'm here for the same thing as everybody else in this dump! So lemme get my crap and go, or there are gonna be a few dead bodies to clean up!" He left with a free pair of baggy jeans and a hoodie, just like he wanted. That didn't stop him from taking an hour to break down sobbing after it was all said and done. He had become exactly what CODA wanted him to be: a dangerous weapon that would kill people to get what he wanted. Sure, he wasn't actually pushed to that point in the store, but there was no doubt in his mind that had somebody tried to stop him they would be sliced open at the neck in a heartbeat.
Recently he has heard rumors of the rebellion rising in Cianwood. This is his current destination, even though revenge isn't at the top of his list of priorities.
[OTHER] His collar's phone function does not work; whenever an attempt to connect is made it only creates a quiet staticy noise. The energy-sap function, however, works just fine. It activates on a daily basis at six AM automatically, as if to serve as a last-ditch effort to make Jess decide to turn around and go back to CODA. It serves as his "alarm clock" in a way, though it does leave him weak until around nine every morning.
[SPECIES] Leafeon
[GENDER] Male
[AGE] 17
[ALLIANCE] Rebellious Rogue. Formerly CODA.
[ABILITIES] His wounds and physical ailments are slightly relieved while he's in sunlight. He also doesn't get as hungry as a normal person or eat as much; he gets half his energy from food and the other half from photosynthesis. Should be be denied sunlight for any reason he will become frail and eventually die after a couple weeks without the sun's rays. The air around him is clear and clean.
[MOVES]
. Tackle . Tail Whip . Helping Hand . Sand Attack .
. Razor Leaf . Quick Attack . Synthesis . Magical Leaf .
. Giga Drain . Last Resort . Grasswhistle . Sunny Day .
. Leaf Blade . Swords Dance . Growl . Bite .
. Baton Pass . Take Down . Trump Card .
. Iron Tail [TM] . Double Team [TM] . X-Scissor [TM] .
[DESCRIPTION]
Jess is far from your typical idea of a "Leafeon Pokemorph". Most people imagine some sort of cute humanoid with leaves for ears. While he does indeed bear the trademark leaves of his species (ears, tail, arms, legs, chest, shoulders, forehead), he's also deformed by several other odd traits. For one Jess has no thumbs. His hands are stubby paws that barely resemble human hands at all, and are practically useless when it comes to doing a lot of the things a "normal" person would do. He often subconsciously finds himself hunching over slightly, as if headed into an all-fours position. While he can stand up straight, and while he can stand on all fours, he is most comfortable in this "halfway" position, and most of the time he doesn't even notice he's situated that way. He runs fastest on all fours, however. His whole body is covered by a thin coat of fur that thickens out into fluffy tufts here and there. He's tall and thin; lanky. Jess once had blonde hair, but this is now only recognizable in faint streaks that line the cream-colored mess of hair and fur on his head. His face stretches into a slight muzzle shape. Perhaps the strangest thing about him is his eyes, though. They're rather large, and they are a strange blend of blue and brown. He wears baggy, dark clothes to conceal his identity as a Pokemorph (with little success most of the time). The blue collar around his neck is large and scratched up, the result of failed attempts to break it and get it off.
[PERSONALITY]
Jess is dark. No, not emo or goth or whatever, but very dark. He views everything in an extremely pessimistic way, believing that things can and always will get worse. His pessimism leads to automatic assumptions about situations often. He will accept whatever grim future he expects to be the truth, if only to save himself the pain of realizing later that things turned out worse than he'd thought. Jesse's life is a battle against optimism. A prolonged fight to keep himself from feeling hurt.
Of course he gets hurt anyways. Little things get to him, like being patronized or knowing that people are afraid of him. While he is good at acting and can hide his true feelings for a while he really is more emotional than he'd like to let anybody else think. Bottling in sorrow eats at him from the inside and only makes things worse when he takes the time to let his emotions loose. Loosing his cool or having a breakdown in public are embarrassing things that Jess avoids at all costs, but when he's all alone late at night he will often sob to himself or vent out his frustration. While he may act snappy or threatening to get people to leave him alone, deep down he's just a typical frustrated teenager. Well, yanno. Plus some Pokemon DNA. That doesn't really help much.
His transformation has made him more aggressive and defensive. In his typical pessimistic manner he knows (or thinks) nobody will accept him for what he is, and makes it a point to conceal everything about himself. If anyone tries to break through his shell he will retaliate with anger and possibly even violence (though he does hate hurting people). However, all he really wants is someone who truly cares for him. Prove to him that such a person exists and his depressed attitude may just turn around...
[HISTORY]
Jess was an odd kid.
He was deaf for twelve minutes after he was born, he almost died from the common cold twice as a baby, and he was the sort of imaginitive child who got into arguments with his cereal in the morning. His parents spoiled him, treating him like an angel. This was probably because his mother's first child had been stillborn and doctors told her she probably wouldn't be able to have any more children. They wanted to cherish the one child they'd ever have.
Despite how happy and peaceful the family seemed on the surface, however, things were far from well. Jess' father was a serious alcoholic, and his mother was usually at work, too busy to spend much time with her son and husband. On top of that they found that they'd started to disagree on... pretty much every issue. Money, politics, parenting... The only thing they really had in common anymore was their love for their son. And they did agree that he shouldn't grow up thinking his parents hated each other. So they told him otherwise. Jess grew up believing the innocent lie that his mommy and daddy loved each other very much, and that they would always stay together forever.
Needless to say, when daddy started throwing beer bottles at mommy, it became pretty obvious what was really going on.
Things got a hell of a lot worse by the time Jess was eight. His father was more aggressive, and his mother was more controlling. They would yell and have loud arguments almost every other night, and what little time was spent with Jess became time to tell him, "It's okay; we're just going through some stress; it isn't your fault..."
The realization that he had been lied to by his own parents was a harsh blow to little Jesse's innocent mindset. He became somewhat depressed and stopped caring about the little activities he used to enjoy, like soccer. Instead he retreated to art, the one thing he felt he was truly good at. Jess couldn't paint, but he'd always loved drawing and sketching. Even at the age of eight his drawings were expressive and meaningful. With the pain inflicted by the revelation that his parents were no more than hateful liars his art took a sorrowful turn. He would draw exaggerated and grim pictures depicting the demons of his life. But of course his artwork, sad and beautiful as it was, went unnoticed by his quarrelling parents. Figures. They had better things to do than look at their own son's creative developments. Like fighting over bills and refraining from hitting each other.
For some reason his mother seemed surprised that Jesse was 'depressed', and she began taking him to a child therapist immediately. At first he wasn't interested in the slightest, but then the therapist showed interest in the one thing that still had meaning to the poor kid: his drawings. She would ask to see his latest works every time he came in, and he would bring notebooks full of pencil sketches and dramatic abstract depictions of his reality. Occasionally she would say to his mother, "Your son makes very beautiful artwork." His mother would simply shrug it off or change the subject after a bit of light conversation. His therapist wasn't like anyone else in his life. Teachers were only interested in his learning ability, and friends were only interested in casual things, and parents were only interested in convincing him everything was okay (when it clearly wasn't). But his therapist was interested in him. She wanted to know about his life, why he felt the ways he did, and what things really meant to him. His two years of therapy between the ages of eight and ten were depressing, but at least he had a sweet escape to savor once or twice a week.
That is, until his father found out. Jesse's father was a simple man who believed therapy and pills and doctors and all those sorts of things were trash that would corrupt a mind in a heartbeat. When he learned his wife had been talking Jesse to therapy for two years, he exploded in a fit of rage. Jess happened to be in a therapy session when his father learned of it, and his father came to the actual building to take him away from the "twisted" woman who had been "filling his head with lies". Jess never saw his beloved therapist again.
After a few weeks of prolonged war between his parents, Jesse's mother got a small apartment and wisked him away to live with her. She told him they were only separating for a little while, to calm down and settle their differences peacefully. He was done believing her lies, though.
Jess adjusted to a new school, as well as a few new therapists. But these therapists weren't like his last one. She had been his therapist, the one he trusted, the only adult in his life that mattered who wasn't family. These therapists were no more than head-doctors. They were mostly male, and they all spoke in such a passionless monotone that he could barely stand to listen to them talk. They would say bland, obvious things about his life ("Oh, so your parents are separated? That makes you sad, doesn't it?") and blatantly patronize him. They didn't even care about his artwork, even when he mentioned it. Worst of all they gave his mother pills for him to take. He didn't need pills. He needed someone who cared. Someone who would listen to him. Not a bunch of people who wanted him to listen to them.
After four years of empty therapy and moving from apartment-to-apartment, it didn't surprise nor bother Jesse when he spotted his mother one morning filling out divorce papers. She caught him looking and called him over for a long, drawn-out coversation about how things just didn't work out. How everything would be okay now. How it wasn't his fault. How it wasn't his fault. How it wasn't his fault, again and again... Of course it wasn't his fault. He didn't ask for this. It wasn't his problem anymore. He didn't care. He saw his dad every now and then after that, but he simply deteriorated without his relationship. Every time Jess went to see him for a weekend or a holliday the man would spend most of his time on the couch, drinking and watching television. His mom continued working at an office for C.O.D.A. as she had been for years. Nothing really changed. The therapy ended soon after the official divorce, and he was glad of it. He got an Electrike for his fifteenth birthday. His mother meant it as a sign that he should do something with his life; become a trainer, go on an adventure, leave this crappy little apartment world he hated so much. He named it 'Artemis' and kept it as a house pet.
As before, the only thing that still held meaning for Jess was his drawings. He'd improved. And he steadily kept improving. In high school he took an advanced drawing class. He found something to build his life with, at last. If he could go to college, take this further... Perhaps his future wouldn't be so grim. Perhaps he could escape this world and get a real education, a real career. He could be happy, for once...
... Yahhh - not gonna happen.
Taking a bus home one day after school Jesse Malone disappeared from society. Blink. Gone. Nowhere to be found. Didn't return home that night, didn't come to school the next morning, didn't even feed Artemis at five-o-clock as he did every day. Vanished, without a trace.
Of course, CODA was responsible. When he found out he wondered if his mother had knowledge of this. She probably couldn't have; she worked in an office building in Goldenrod where data was processed and meaningless phone numbers were called. Meanwhile her son was being shipped off to a laboratory by Mt.Silver where he would probably be turned into some kind of mutant science experiment. And of course, the lab workers there told him about how he would contribute to history, fighting off the rebels and ultimately saving the region from a dark future of anarchy and chaos... Yeah. He'd stopped believing lies when he was ten years old.
CODA stole Jesse's future. Of all the experiences he'd hated in his life, his transformation was the one that really made him believe he was somehow cursed with misfortune. He could barely stand to tolerate it. His hands, the beloved hands he'd used to create countless pictures of countless meaningful things, were twisted into crooked shapes that would never be physically capable of drawing anything again. Pale fur and green leaves sprouted from his flesh, giving him the appearance of a social reject that no person in the right mind would accept for what he was: a human being who needed to be loved. He had nothing after that. He wouldn't have a high school graduation. He wouldn't go to college. He wouldn't have an art career to pursue. All he had now was a collection of stupid Pokemon powers and an uncomfortable blue collar around his neck.
He endured it for as long as he had to. Jess was emotional, but he could play dumb for a while before snapping. As soon as CODA let him run off with a group of other Pokemorphs, he took his chance to sneak away. He wasn't about to serve the crooked organization that took away his only opportunity to be happy in his life, then turned around and claimed to be 'just' and 'good'. There didn't seem to be any attempts at retrieving him. During his short stay at the lab he hadn't acted aggressive or shown any signs that he would try to run away or escape or anything. They probably just assumed he got lost. He did, however, manage to break the phone piece on his collar by smashing it into a wall for a couple hours (this gave him a few days of a sore neck, but it was well worth it).
Since he wasn't keen on wandering around naked he knew he had to go to desperate measures to obtain clothing. Once he bravely made his way into a clothing store casually. When the store's shoppers and staff looked ready to do something about his presence he yelled, "Everybody get out of the f*cking way! I'm here for the same thing as everybody else in this dump! So lemme get my crap and go, or there are gonna be a few dead bodies to clean up!" He left with a free pair of baggy jeans and a hoodie, just like he wanted. That didn't stop him from taking an hour to break down sobbing after it was all said and done. He had become exactly what CODA wanted him to be: a dangerous weapon that would kill people to get what he wanted. Sure, he wasn't actually pushed to that point in the store, but there was no doubt in his mind that had somebody tried to stop him they would be sliced open at the neck in a heartbeat.
Recently he has heard rumors of the rebellion rising in Cianwood. This is his current destination, even though revenge isn't at the top of his list of priorities.
[OTHER] His collar's phone function does not work; whenever an attempt to connect is made it only creates a quiet staticy noise. The energy-sap function, however, works just fine. It activates on a daily basis at six AM automatically, as if to serve as a last-ditch effort to make Jess decide to turn around and go back to CODA. It serves as his "alarm clock" in a way, though it does leave him weak until around nine every morning.