FEAR, Script

[Script Fear]

Script.Fear

Madness, Murder, Dismay!

JUST THE BASICS
full.name; Talon Fear (Goes by Script)
nicknames; Blue & Tally (Only friends)
age; Seventeen
birthday; Oct 31st
i'.think.i.might.fall.in.love.with; Either
i'm.from; Orange Archipelago
but.i.live.in; Wanderer
i.make.a.name.by; Pokemon Collector/Team Plasma

DON'T JUDGE ME
let.me.tell.you.what.i.look.like
Hair; Wispy and as blue as the sky; cut mid length with two longer sections framing his face. The right section is bound with a thin lace to keep it out of his eyes.
Skin; A flawless light cream, only defiled by thin scars found here and there along his chest, abdomen, and arms. A more noticeable jagged scar surrounds his throat, almost always covered by his collar.
Eyes; Brilliant crimson like rich blood. They tend to show his emotions as if a window into his thoughts, something that has always annoyed him. He also wears four gems bellow his left eye; A red diamond shaped gem in the center, surrounded on each side by a smaller purple diamond shaped gem, and lastly a thin blue tear shaped gen bellow the red one. They where a gift given to him by his sister alike the lace in his hair.
Body; Lean muscled and slim from years of acrobatics and swimming. He is quick on his feet and excels at anything water related. He stands at 5'8 weighing 148lbs.

EVERYTHING'S INSIDE
i.really.like;
- Battling
- Fire
- Pain (Both receiving and inflicting)
but.i.don't.like;
- Weak pokemon
- Humans
- Just about everything
i.rock.at;
- Brave
- Strong bonds with his pokemon
- Unpredictable
but.i.can't.seem.to;
- Short attention spand
- Socially awkward
- Self-sacrificing
i'm.afraid.of;
- Tentacruel
and.of.course.i'm.not.normal;
- Three gems bellow his left eye
- His right-side bangs are laced together
- He tends to bite/nibble his wrist
- He always wears a black collar
if.you.want.me;
- Unique looks
- Owns certain pokemon
- Yellow eyes
but.never.ever;
- Treats pokemon badly
- Ordinary looks
- Boring pokemon
everyone's.got.secrets;
- He likes Castform, even though there generally a weak pokemon
- He adores flowers, especially roses
- He gets along better with pokemon than people
someday.i.will;
- Collect all the rare and powerful pokemon of the world
if.i.had.to.sum.it.all.up;
Script is generally what most would call an outcast, except by his own choice. He isn't very fond of people and speaks exactly what is on his mind, unafraid to say what needs to be said. It isn't that he lacks social graces; having been raised in a wealthy family he is well versed in etiquette and grace, he simply doesn't care enough to do so.
For the most part he shows little emotion when around people, other than looks of amusement and smirks at their pathetic antics. He would much rather spend his time with Pokemon. He and his pokemon are especially close, and he knows each one like the back of his hand. Their fears, their favorite food; all of it. His ambition is to collect all the rare and powerful pokemon of the world, and free pokemon from bad trainers. Hence why he decided to join Team Plasma for the time being.

WHERE I COME FROM
my.mother.is; Lily La'clare (Deceased)
and.you.know.that.i.love.her;
She is soft-spoken and sweet. The type of woman that tries to help everyone around her.
my.father.is; Vincent La'clare
and.he's.a.great.man;
He is strict and buisness-like. More of a corporal tyrant than a father.
i.was.born.in; A small town on Tarroco Island.
and.grew.up.with; A baby sister of ten years named Rosette, missing since she was five.
let.me.tell.you.we.were.quite.the.bunch; She is cute and innocent, the kind of kid that makes friends everywhere she goes. She tends to be oblivious of her surroundings and nearby danger. Making her oddly fearless and prone to getting herself in bad situations. But she was one of the only humans script holds dearly.
if.i.had.to.write.an.essay;
Script was born to the wealthy La'claire family; known around the Orange Islands for their top line shipping company. As the first born and heir to the family business, a lot was expected from him. Yet he never seemed to meet his father's high standards. By the age of five he developed a habit of running off to play in the woods with the native pokemon, finding them far more interesting than etiquette and music classes. Of course, his father did not approve of this. One day his father had enough. He stormed into the woods and apprehended the child, intent on teaching him a lesson and ending the rebellion for good. His father had always believed the only good pokemon were strong pokemon, despising weak pokemon such as the oddish and rattata Script played with. With a wave of his hand he ordered his Arcanine to attack his son's pokemon friends, changing Script's life forever.
Ever since that day a dark hatred began to grow within him. And when he got his first pokemon from his mother he vowed to become far stronger than his father, and save pokemon from tyrants like him as well. Day after day he spent with his new pokemon trapinch, determined to one day travel the world with him and get away from the orange islands. But things started to change once his baby sister Rosette was born. She was so innocent and loving that he couldn't help but become attached to her. He began to forget his dreams of leaving the island, instead spending his time with her as she grew up. But one day things went horribly wrong. When he was twelve a large storm struck the island and caused the cliff beneath their seashore view home to crumble, sending their home plummeting into the churning waters.
He and his mother were hospitalized from the indecent, giving him the scar across his neck he has to this day. His father was unharmed, having been away on business at the time; but Rosette had gone missing, thought to be dead. His mother was hardly in better condition, growing weaker by the day from her injuries. And one day she called him into her room; giving him her first and only pokemon, gyarados, to take care of. That night she passed away and Script realized everything that had bound him to this island had now been torn away from him. He ran away the very next day, never to see the Islands again. His journey had begun.

TAKE A BOW
hi.i.am; Roux
i.also.play; None yet
let.me.show.you.my.skills;
From a different site I was on.

Cold dawn light bathed the courtyard of the Academy, turning everything it touched a sinister blood red. Shadows danced across the ground. Moving swiftly and elegantly towards the large ancient oak nestled at the far corner of the campus. Slowly they began to take shape, notable traits such as broad ears and a long tail sprouting from the main body of shadow. Like a ghost; the longer you tried to focus on it's shape the more distorted it became. It moved with purpose. Each step defined and without hesitation, as if it belonged here as much as the ancient oak itself. And maybe it did. For this was no ordinary academy, so why should there be ordinary things lurking about it either? The almost feline-like shadow beast crept along the base of the tree, sniffing about as if on the hunt. It's eyes swept across the campus thoughtfully before the beast finally turned and melted into the shadow of the oak, appearing moments later upon one of it's broad branches high above. There, it finally paused. Angling it's ears towards a figure hidden in shadow closer to the tree's trunk.

"Ciao il mio gatto." The boy greeted the beast, his voice calmingly soft and clear as he spoke his native tongue. He extended his hand and gave another smile. Obviously familiar with the creature. The beast called 'Gatto' nuzzled the boy's hand before stretching out along the branch, his head resting peacefully on the boy's lap. "Should I even bother wondering where you go at times?" He muttered, shaking his head at Gatto's blank stare. He silently took a pair of headphones from his pocket and placed them back in his ears, beginning to sing softly as he always did when he was alone. "What have i become? My sweetest friend. Everyone I know goes away, in the end. And you could have it all, my empire of dirt. I will let you down. I will make you hurt..." He closed his eyes slowly and slid from the tree branch, landing lightly in a crouch. As he straightened up a crooked smirk played across his lips, giving him a suddenly almost manic look. He could be unpredictable that way; one moment signing johnny cash, and then the next wanting to set the world on fire.

All in all, the boy was quite handsome. Ripped jeans hung loosely from his narrow hips, accompanied by a black jean jacket. He wore no shirt, leaving his lean muscled torso and hip piercings exposed. Not that he cared. He was far beyond caring what others thought. His unruly white and black hair flared out in wisps as if it had a mind of it's own; and his unusual violet eyes glowed vibrantly, brought out all the more by his milky white complexion. Though he was not without his faults. A narrow scar ran across his left eye down to his cheek, a memento of his dark past. One he will never forget. For it was what made him Script De'Luca.

[Kçℵ]

Accepted!

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