Lovelace E. Notte
Feb 24, 2014 16:54:40 GMT -5
Post by Lovelace E. Notte on Feb 24, 2014 16:54:40 GMT -5
LOVELACE ERIC NOTTE
45 - MUTANT - FEMALE - DEMISEXUAL - PRAVUS - COUNCIL
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ABOUT THE PLAYER:
OOC Account: Pure
What do you wish to be called?: Just Pure, please.
Other Characters: Nope.
Link to your previous character: N/A
BASIC INFORMATION:
Full Name:Eros Jemina NotteLovelace Eric(a) Notte
Nickname(s): Ms. Notte, nothing else.
Gender: Female
Age: 45
Allegiance: Pravus
Occupation (Position) : Pravus council
Species: Mutant
Powers:Hematokinesis—or the ability to control your own blood at will. She is unable to control the when and where she uses it, but it mainly happens whenever she is frightened or believes she needs to defend herself. She can also control others blood circulation, but only when she is frightened. She can hardened her blood, use it to grab things; almost like extra hands. When she hardens her blood, she can use it as a weapon, like as a knife or sword. But she cannot use this power too much, for she can lose blood very rapidly, and can pass out or even die if she stress this power too much. She is slowly but surely learning how to control its powers.
PHYSICAL APPEARANCE:
Face Claim: Campanella Frühling from DOGS: Bullets & Carnage
Hair color and hair style: A very dark brown, seemingly assumed to be black.
Eye Color: Grey-blue, cold as steel
Height: 5'10", when wear heels she comes to at least 6'0"
Build: Tall, slender, yet blessed with womanly curves.
Skintone: Fair, cool undertones.Other Appearance Information: Beauty is like that of a knife. Slim, undecorated, maybe even classic, yet all the more alluring for its fundamental lethality. No trifles, no embellishments, just a clean-cut, powerful silhouette. It is the image of her choice, and she has achieved it. Now, she simply maintains it. She moves with a cold, militaristic fashion. Rhythmic, and undeniably self-assured. She walks like she can own the place. All it'd take is a flick of her wrist. Her strides are measured, her turns controlled, and it all comes from habit, the ever constant reliance on her abilities. Her facial features are narrow, twig-like and cut in stone. Her nose is very bony and thin upon her face, her bone structure seems long, from her limbs to her fingers to hair and her features.
With darkened skin, it's safe to assume Lovelace has constantly been under the sun in her younger days, she's been burned brown instead of bronze because her skin is not used to it. If given the chance to adjust with the appropriate products, however, she'd probably end up a nice shade of toasty tan. Lovelace possibly has several scars around her body, particularly on her forearms or legs, from time as a soldier in the war in her earlier years, but they've all probably disappeared by now. Her most notable scar is hidden beneath her bangs: a large, star-like laceration spreading from her hairline up to the outer end of her right eye. It was earned during a raid upon a captured town and was cornered by a certainly lethal clone.
Lovelace's hair is pin-straight, cascading in long, thick sheets of dark chocolate brown, dark enough to actually be considered black. There are some parts where her age is catching up to her, and tints of grey and white have penetrated the brunette color. While most of her hair is cut to one length, her bangs are cut in sections and in upward angles, from the tip of her nose up to her cheekbones. Always side-parts it, to the right. She trims it herself constantly to prevent split ends and knots. Every few months she will use a moisturizing mask. As for overall features, Lovelace looks very tall, and she is, but the way she carries herself makes her seem like a tower, rigid, impenetrable. While her features seem perfectly chiseled and are undoubtedly attractive, but they are not delicate or angelic. Her smiles are more like a baring of fangs.
Her suits are sharp, business-like; and neutral. Black and white, expensive fabric, but she'd have two of the same outfit and six more pairs in similar patterns. Although her suits are most likely tailored for her, she probably only has a small selection of textiles to choose from (crumbling industries and commerce and all). For the most part, she does seem comfortable in her clothes. Lovelace would demand a perfect fit to enforce her harsh, straightforward rules and personality. Her dress shirts have hidden buttons. What she mainly wears is her infamous pinstriped double-breasted suit.
PERSONALITY:
Likes:
Whiskey: Ahh...yes. One of her lesser known likes. She absolutely adores this alcoholic beverage. It isn't known why, however. She isn't an extreme alcoholic user, but she always keeps a flask of it somewhere in her house, out of plain site. Cats: There's a saying that a cats purring can calm you and lessen stress. Well, Lovelace finds this saying very true. Ann Marie, her Delcatty, whenever she is curled on her lap and purrs in her sleep Lovelace can't help but baby her and adore her. Any abandoned or lost cat Pokemon is always welcome in her house, if they want to stay with her, or just needs food, Lovelace doesn't mind offering them shelter or a place to live and grow. She doesn't show this side at work, but whoever owns a cat Pokemon she will be a bit more nicer to. Rainy days: Rain. She loves when she is inside and curled up in her bed reading a good book and it lulls her to sleep. Rain...well, water in general cleans all the sin of the old away and replaces it with new life, new beginnings. Plants can grow, and the earth can prosper with rain by their side. She is glad Arceus created such simple matter. It makes her happy, and it grounds her to think o others, and not always herself. She marvels that the simple things can make her stop thinking of herself and her rank and pity those who don't have it as good at her. Rain humbles her, and makes her feel warm and fuzzy inside. Order: When everyone has a job to do, when everyone is peaceful and everyone is a comrade...this is what Lovelace strives for. She desires, no—craves order in its most purest form. No fighting, no war or hardship, and when all have something to do and they stick to it, this is when she is truly happy and content. Its odd when most of her likes differ from what she once loved and enjoyed when she was Eros and not Lovelace, but she cannot change herself. It was once said the old Lovelace was wild and bent on anarchy...but she cannot imagine such now. Children: She has a son of her own, and she loves him very much. She doesn't seem like the type to be motherly, but whenever she's around kids, especially small toddlers she can't help but crack a smile. She has no memories of her own childhood, but she wishes her most love and luck for the ones she knows that will have a childhood. She's always been a very protective mother, and although her own son is going on twenty now, she still treats him like her precious baby.
Dislikes:
Incompetence: Some people believe they cannot do much of anything in their life. Lovelace doesn't thing much, well...she doesn't think making a name for yourself is really that hard. She make be all bite and no bark, but she has to keep up with herself despite her memory becoming cloudy and shrouded in mist. She's tired of those below her complaining that they cannot do anything. With such an attitude, she knows they probably cannot. If you put yourself down, you'll never get up. Even with unity, you cannot move until you want to move. Memories: She cannot remember. They give her headaches. She's slowly but surely getting them back, with the help of her son, Fitz and Ann Marie, she's slowly collecting them and stringing them back on a clothes line to see and think about. But she doesn't have anything, not just yet. Sometimes she'll wake up in a cold sweat and not know why exactly, she feels terror when she thinks to make, like a pillow it smothering her from an unknown enemy and she truly feels absolute terror. She doesn't even remember the good old days, her son's childhood (she's barely remembers her son), her marriage, her life before it all. It scares her. Mirrors: Because she honestly don't like her reflection. She doesn't like to see the scar on her face that cripples her eyesight so badly that she has to cover it up with her own hair. She doesn't like to look at herself, point blank. Mirrors are bad luck, anyway. Lovelace isn't superstitious, but mirrors honestly frighten her. Putting one in front of her causes her mild discomfort to an extreme breakdown. She doesn't know why, so don't ask. Yelling: Loud noises are ridiculous. She may be forty-five years old but she doesn't plan on losing her hearing along with her sight. If you are raising your voice she will quietly tell you to lower it. Yelling is very disrespectful to her, and if you plan on making Lovelace enemy material, its best to yell a lot to annoy her. Arrogance: She hates those with an overwhelming ego. Well, she doesn't include her own ego, although its been stroke more than once. But her associates with huge egos annoy her. Always talking about themselves, always praising themselves...even she's not that self-adsorbed. Well...actually she is. She just doesn't show it. Its better to be polite than be a cocky bastard, now isn't it? She's not being a hypocrite or anything...
Strengths:
- People pleaser
- A listener
- Graceful
- Motherly
- Caring
Weaknesses:
- Narrow-mined
- She puts the 'bite' in ambitious
- Thick-headed
- Cruel
- Dominant
Personality:
Merciless: She doesn't care, frankly. She'd kill you as soon as she looked at you. People around her are just simple pawns she uses to get what she wants and then she throws them away like a that shitty Barbie doll you got for you sixth birthday from your mother and never liked it. Is that a good description on how she throws people away? No? Well, just know she doesn't care. Why should she? I mean, this doesn't mean she's a complete psychopath, but she's slightly off her rocker. Once in therapy after the war, she almost killed her own son because he tried to hug her. She regrets it now, but she would've been fine without him. And she could have been sent to prison, but hell; no regrets, right? Thoughtful: She can sit down, close her eyes, and sit still for the whole day thinking and remembering. She'll have one hell of a cramp when she actually decides to move around, and her legs will be numb, but she comes out of her comatose with fresh new ideas and whatnot. That's good right? Thinking is better than acting and then getting yourself killed or into trouble. Speaking of trouble, lets talk about her meddlesome, idiotic son she has. Always in trouble with the law, it gives her a bad name. But she loves her son, despite the fact she almost killed him. Almost, a nineteen year old man trying to hug her? Wouldn't you be suspicious too? But that's her son, her baby, so she has to think over the fact sometimes she wants to smother him in his sleep because he's such a dumbass. Seriously. Narcissistic: She loves herself. No one else, if you asked her who her significant other was, she'd say herself. Seriously. Ask her sometime. She will say it so casually you'll actually believe it. She doesn't even remember her husband. And who the hell is Eros? Sometimes she freaks out when people call her Eros, because her name is Lovelace, dammit. If she didn't hate mirrors so much, she'd always be in front of one, primping and flipping her hair, spending hours in front of it to achieve maximum beauty and elegance. Don't judge her, bro. It happens, she does what she wants these days. She may be council, but she got there thinking about herself and herself only. Everyone else, even her own Pokemon and son mean little to her. Ambitious: Another trait that got her here where she is today is sheer ambitious and willpower. I mean, a normal person without memory of their previous life would've crumbled up into little pieces because their life is ruined, the war hurt her, but that doesn't mean she has to lie down and take it. She isn't going to let memories ( no matter how painful ) take over her life and leave her a gibbering mess of one who was once great. She had to crawl her way to the top, and it pretty much the right hand man next to Ethan herself, and she is not satisfied ( she's been eyeing his position for a while ) but hell, what can you do? One day, she shakes her fist at the sky and sighs...one mother-fucking day. Dogmatic: Momma is always right. Momma asserts her authority everywhere she goes. She has the aura of a black hole because of her decisiveness. I'm right, your wrong—end of the discussion. Its best if you don't argue with her because she has the patience of a dying cobra bent on killing its murderer. If you like to think your right all the time, well, consider yourself wrong this time. Because Ms. Notte always wins.
BACKGROUND:History:
- Birth of a Mastermind, You are born early in the mourning. You cry a lot, at least what your older brother says when you are brought home. Your big sisters just want to play with you. You're a chubby baby, bright blue eyes and tan skin, and you pump your arms up and down as you erupt in loud cries of anger at being disrupted from whatever you were doing. From sleep, from feeding, from anything really. Anyone can make to cry, and at all hours of the night the house, crowded beyond its capacity, is echoing with your sobs. You disturbed the peace, but you are just an infant. You didn't know better. Matter of fact, you know nothing.
Papi likes to put you in his lap and tickle you, when he kisses your cheeks, you giggle at his rough feeling beard, and you run chunky fingers through his slick, black hair. Momma has brown hair, her eyes are a warm and kind lavender. She's really tall, like a jungle gym you see the big kids play on. You wanna play with the big kids, but you can't, you play in the backyard and swing on the old rickety swing-set and pout because you are lonely and nobody will play with you. You are old six years old, your siblings are ten and twelve years old, they shove you out of their games, and you get mad and stomp back home. You wanted to be big...you wanted to be powerful. You want to be big and strong, like Papi. Papi is a boxer, a professional boxer who she watched on the big box called a TV. He hits hard, hits the other man in the jaw, hits them in the stomach, lashes out with his powerful legs to land them a hefty hit in the gut. You cheer him on, but your older siblings tease you because Papi can't hear you through the big box. But you don't care, you want to be just like him...you want to be strong and unbeatable.
So when Papi comes back from the big box you say you want to be just like him when you grow up, but Papi, with his twinkling roguish eyes and kind smile, he sets you upon his big knee and kisses you. You were his princess, and you knew no other way. Papi was becoming popular, and with popularity, comes money, Momma always said. Money got you things other kids could only dream of. You moved out of that stuffy, crowded house and you get a nice, roomy one with enough bedrooms so everyone had their own bedroom and bathroom. The kitchen was big, too. Papi even got a maid to cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner for everyone. Breakfast was hectic, with hands grabbing food from the same plate, screaming and fighting over the last share. They may have been rich and all, but those kids were absolutely wild animals if Eros knew one. She always got the small pickings, a piece of toast, one sausage, maybe even some eggs if she was lucky enough. Nanny Ann, a jolly old lady would cook more breakfast for her, telling her to grow big and strong, and Eros listened to her.- Lusting for more, The city was really big, and Papi walked her to school. She felt protected with his large hand around her smaller one. Her first time in a private school was awful. One of the teachers swatted her on the palm with a ruler and she cried. All the students laughed and pointed at her and she had to sit in the corner. Nine years old, and they were treating her like a baby! When it was lunch time, one boy, a big ruffian with broad shoulders and big brown eyes cut in front of her in line. She tried to be reasonable and ask him to move out the way, but he simply shoved her to the side and laughed at her. The others told her not to question him further, he was the infamous bully, nobody was bold enough to question him. But she did what she wanted. This big bully wasn't going to get the last cupcake! She pushes him, and he sneers and pushes her—harder. And without warning, she lashes out and floors him with a punch with some strength she didn't even know she had. Blood gushed from his nose and she started crying. Crying. Boys didn't cry. What a wimp.
But the kids say that wasn't your fist that you hit him with. Something red colored juts from your spine from the last minute and hits him for you. Your fist actually missed his face—there it was. A wiggly string of red stuff...blood, it was called. It was the width of her arm, and wiggled and squirmed around like it had a mind of its own. The tentacle was shaped like a fist itself, and slowly, it disintegrated and slipped back inside of her. Like it was never there. He's on the floor, crying, snot everywhere, and you smirk. You are strong, like you wanted to be all those years ago. You turn to face your peers and they stare at you in awe, fascination...was there fear in their innocent eyes? You don't care. All you know is that you are top dog now.
this way all until high-school. You grow. You weren't expelled that day from beating on that boy because like Momma says, money pays. You were chubby once, due to baby pictures your mother frequently showed you, but you were thinning out. Your old clothes no longer fit you like a glove anymore. It felt awkward having to go to the mall so regularly like you did while all others had their new clothes, you were slowly growing out of yours. Momma said you were always the quickest to grow, despite being the youngest. Most of your sisters could barely fill out their shirts with their chest and there you were, your back hurting from all these changes. Despite those womanly changes, you were still the same, really. Power-hungry and wild, you started fights and finished them with all the teenage gusto and elegance you could muster. You were rather smart, too. School was no problem, and due to your social status, you never got suspended, expelled...nothing. You sure as hell weren't the golden child but you passed school with A-B honor roll and you couldn't help but you be proud of yourself.
You want more power. You want to control. It all. Everything.
You throw yourself into your work. It feels much better to study than make others suffer. You don't know what's up with the sudden change inside of you, but the power-hungry phase fades from you and all that's left is a complete wreck. You aren't really sure what you are aiming for anymore. But that hunger left something, something that makes you wonder why it left in the first place—ambition. A drive. You distance yourself from your family because of it. There is no time for them, there is no time at all, its just you out here and you gotta make a name for yourself or what will you do without it? You'll be a nobody, like where your siblings were headed—nowhere.
Dad knocks on your closed door. "KEEP OUT" it says. Because you are studying, of course. Not sneaking out, getting tattoos or getting pregnant like the rest of your peers were doing. I mean, not like Papi wanted you to get pregnant, but hell, you could at least leave your room once in a while, right? NO. Momma was happy you were concerned with your work, but Papi wanted you to be social. But you were social, you had friends, and you scream to leave you alone. Of course you had friends, but you didn't see them a lot. You love your friends for not ditching you. They know how ambitious you are—they know you want to be someone someday. Why doesn't he understand you? You are emotional because the parent that you most loved ( I mean, you loved your mom too, but still... ) wasn't getting you anymore like he used to. But you were a girl, things like that happened.- Love of a Teenage Prick, School isn't as hard as your peers say it is. Matter of fact, you love school. You are eighteen years old and saying you love school. Okay, yeah, that attracted a few stares. It kept you busy from your rowdy siblings. Your older brother already has a son, and she's an aunt at eighteen. Your brother, the one who you used to look up to, is now busy taking care of a baby, no time for school...no time for anything. He drops out. You sneer—serves him right for not wrapping some bubble wrap or something around his junk. Or just keep him away from girls in general. He was always a ladies man, but like; that didn't concern you? Who cared what the bastard did.
But that didn't mean you couldn't find love. You weren't really looking for it, but you sit next to this really nice guy who has pretty eyes and you are suddenly a nervous wreck who can't think straight. Alfie, his name was. Alfie with his nice hair, and his nice eyes and...and...what are you thinking, Eros? You have no time for—wait. Did he just ask you out?
So you go out with him. You don't regret it, either. Alfie was something you need, like medicine, and slowly, he straightens out those edges that were roughened. He was a polar opposite to you: wild, selfless, so confident...a modern day Robin Hood if you ever saw one. He makes you smile, he makes you happy, and you go to prom with him, because your mother finally convinces you to go and not stay in the house so much, but Papi isn't so sure of Alfie. Alfie is a rebel, daddy doesn't like rebels. But you don't care, you like Alfie. And Alfie like you.
And you graduate with Alfie by your side and your diploma with you. You already had your sights on college, and so did your boyfriend; no need to fret. You are a good student, a fast writer, and good at paying attention where everyone else lacks and shrivels up and drops out of college. It was rather odd because Alfie was there for you every step of the way. Where you had your woes, you went to Alfie and he made it all better with his warm hugs and his great advice. "Just keep swingin', baby." he'd always say, and you kept on swinging because it was the only thing to do. Your life is a odd blur of occurrences. You like how fast paced it is, despite it all. You get your first tattoo, a coiled Seviper on your thigh. You like to go to parties too, you don't drink, though. Alfie drinks with a swelling splendor that makes drinking look mature. But you are still the one who has to carry him on your back and drive him home, and place a steady hand on his back when he is face-first into the bowl of a toilet vomiting his guts out...but you are always there. You wouldn't dare leaving him because he's the only one who understands you. He fits you like a second skin, and leaves the warm, sweet feeling of a sweater after you've removed it.
He's still drunk that night, and you sleep together for the first time, but he doesn't touch you. He's snoring into your ears and his big arm wrapped around your waist. You can't sleep, not because of the uncomfortably situation you were in, but of something else. It was a faint whisper in your ear, drowsy and husky:
"I wanna marry you," your heart is racing. He was drunk after all, so maybe he didn't mean what he said? You try to sleep, but his loud snoring shakes all the exhaustion from you. So you settle on slipping from his embrace and watch the sun rise. You felt tingly. You, Eros Jemina Notte, were one day going to get married. It was bound to happen, but it frightened you that it was going to happen. And then it dawns on you that...you do love this man. And you want this. So, with that in mind, you smile, butterflies in your tummy.
You are twenty-two when you graduate from college. You and Alfie are still together, and you look different. You've reached adult height, now at 5'10", you are done growing. Your features are sharp, up from your chin down to your toes, you are different. Alfie, taking a step forward, had decided to grow a beard. He's still the same, big, rough presence around you, but you and Alfie are adults now, you get intimate now ( with the right protection, of course! ) and he's talking about with a great fondness of getting a house, starting a family, living together...
You draw the line there. You love Alfie, you seriously do, but you had many other things to think about and so did he. He smiles that casual, warm smile he always did when he knows you've won and nods his head. He was never the one to argue. You decide to pursue your Master's degree. Politics, business, and law has always been your thing, and Alfie loved Pokemon. You, only have three companions you call your own, and he overwhelms you and has six. He said when he was a kid, he always wanted to be a Gym leader, and she helps him with his dream so it can become a reality. But then again, he wanted to get his Master's as well, so he pushes his dream aside to better his education.- Loss of the One You Held, You are twenty-five when Papi passes away. You awaken from a good night's sleep from your phone buzzing away in the middle of the night. You shake Alfie awake and a frantic voice comes from the end of the line, it is your sister and she is pretty much screaming "Come to the hospital, oh Arceus, please, please, please...!" into your ear. You sleepily drive there and your mother, and your remaining siblings ( those who were not involved with gangs, or just dissipated off the face of the Earth ) are crying, whispering, or just simply had the most horrified look on their faces. Mamma was the worst, she was close to a breakdown, and was frantic. All you got from the gibbering mess of flurried words amist sobbing from her was that Papi was dead.
Someone murdered Papi. Someone shot him in the head and left him to die in an alley. Someone broke your family apart. Someone made Mamma cry.
You are devastated. You don't cry, but inside you are torn apart. Limb by limb, tendon by mother-fucking tendon. A burning rage fills you with a desire for revenge. But Alfie, wraps his big rough arms around you and murmurs words of comfort into your ears and you can't help but join them in their sobbing. But Alfie kisses your tears away, he holds you like a mewling baby as you cling to him and wet his nightshirt with your tears. You were angry. You were angry that you hadn't gotten to say goodbye to the only man who you loved more than Alfie himself.- Driven by Revenge, After a few weeks of mourning and putting your Papi in the ground, you have dark thoughts. You want whoever killed Papi dead too. You want him or her buried in the fucking ground too because whoever did it had no reason to kill such an innocent man, so she thinks. She tells her siblings about it, and contacts the estranged ones to plot something up. Her older brother, with a twelve year old son and with many connections, nods and says he'll look around. Your sister, a middle child and also a police official, says she'll be striking up a few investigations; their father was a working man, retired from professional boxing and living a luxurious life with his aging wife and a few helpers here and there, had no reason to be brutally taken away from them as he was. Each child wanted this killer in prison, or at least executed.
Days go by. Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, months turn into two years of no leads. Twenty-five years old, a ring on her finger ( she and Alfie had gotten married between the fiasco ) and the killer was still out there. All there was one lead. Whoever killed Papi was a man, in his early twenties, and had a big scar on his face. That's all they knew, but it was enough for Eros to search every nook, every cranny she could find. There was nothing still. She couldn't dwell on this for the rest of her life, despite Papi being gone, life still moved on.- Overwhelmed by Life, So, finally you and Alfie decide its time. Time to
ruin your lifesfinally have a kid. Planned sexual intercourse was really awkward, and Eros just closed her eyes, counted to ten, and it was over. Didn't last long ( Alfie wasn't known for his long rounds in bed. Sorry not sorry ) and the two were really excited for this. But Eros couldn't help but be sad when she called her mother to tell her she was pregnant. The crack in her heart only grew when she knew her father wouldn't be sharing the happiness of having another grandchild. At twenty-six, half the year was mainly buying baby clothes, renovation the house for the child's room, and buying diapers, toys, and everything needed for their bundle of joy. Her stomach swelled, and so did her heart. She just knew this child would be male, and when it was finally know that it was indeed going to be a boy, she just smiled.
Of course, pregnancy can't be all peaches and cream. Those infamous mood swings and odd cravings for difference foods were all there. But in the end, after feeling like a fat Wailord for like almost a year and a day, she was shipping off to the hospital, all smiles and rubbing her stomach saying: "Let's all relax and enjoy this beautiful moment!" she finally got into the room, laid down. All then the pain hit her.
"THIS IS NOT A BEAUTIFUL MOMENT!" she roars and curses. Once even threatening the nurses or sobbing about how she should just get hit on the head with a frying pan just to be knocked unconscious. But in the end, in the very end—Alfie Jr. was born. And she can very well say he gets all his looks from his father. Well, not his skin color, but the thick hair and the wild attitude definitely belongs to Alfie anyway. You are holding a small baby in your hands and you just begin crying. Unlike other babies, Alfie Jr. didn't wail or cry, he stares and looks around and hiccups. You swear to yourself you will protect this baby, you will protect your son. That motherly instinct kicks in and you are reluctant to give your baby to his father to hold. Alfie Jr. is too small, too delicate—but you forget your husband has those big hands that were very much capable of great gentleness. Damn. You start looking back on everything that happens to you and you smile.
Papi's death wasn't in vain, he's probably looking down from Arceus' domain and smilin' and singing with those angels. And power meant little to you anymore, with such a position you held, a legal secretary, you are happy.
When you come home, you can't remember at time when the house was actually quiet. The baby is constantly crying for food, warmth, or needing its diaper changed. Eros didn't mind really, this was her kid, and she and Alfie had planned this, so what was there to be distressed about. The both of them went through this period with a vague optimism about them. Because even though this kid was an absolute handful, Alfie Jr. was still their baby, and Eros couldn't be happier. He was a normal happy-go-lucky toddler, eager to find out new things, and took after his father in mainly looks and personality. Wild, spunky, and determined, he only took after Eros in a fierce determination and power-lust that made her be a bit taken back whenever he had his temper tantrums. He didn't just pout and cry, he broke things, screamed, but didn't cry once. All of his tantrum was simple, and very blind violence. How could all this rage be inside of a simple three year old?
Despite all this, your life is simple. As a secretary, you file paperwork, take phone calls, all that simple crap. But being the lady you are, you are wanting a bit more than that. You are a hard worker, and this gets you promoted a few times. Law school taught you well to bide your time and enjoy the more easier times because harder ones lie ahead. You are only twenty-eight, you don't have much to lose, only the fact you entered school late and you were still only a third year while all your friends graduated already. So you work harder than most others, often dismissing sleep and only drinking coffee to make sure you don't sleep anytime soon. You don't see your family that much, Alfie works over the laptop so he is always home looking after Jr. You can't help but feel somewhat envious of your husband that he gets to spend some much time with Jr and you only see him long enough for you to tuck him in at night. But it is worth it to put food on the table and clothes on his back.
Seven sleepy years pass by, Alfie Jr. is nine years old and you've graduated from Law school with full honors. Thirty-five years old, you feel trapped; old. You are still married, that diamond ring you were given so long ago by Alfie feels so normal on your ring finger that you barely notice it is there anymore. The love is still as always fresh, and you and Alfie have been planning on having another child, and you were absolutely sure which would be a girl this time if you had enough time to actually stay home and not be at work all day. You pour your heart and soul into each case given, often having to cooperate with stubborn cops or weeping victims. You only did homicide cases, you wanted to catch the bad guys, and you were good at what you did. With the way everything was going, you'd be able to retire early. A new, fresh face in the courtroom, but well-known you were a honest lawyer with dutiful ideals, and ambitious as they come, you looked forward to each case you had. It was for Papi, he would like you to catch each murderer, each fucking rapist...
You want to do just that, but a year afterwards, Mewtwo come...and ruins everything.- War of the Rebels, Mewtwo came like a meddlesome storm. The peace was ruined, and everything changed so quickly Eros had little to no time to wrap her head around it. Alfie, now having finished the rest of his schooling, was now a qualified surgeon, Eros liked to laugh at him when he still had those simple dreams of becoming a Pokemon master, but there was no time for laughter, when war was all around you and you couldn't do much about it. They had a child to take care of, for pete's sake! But the scary thing was that Alfie wanted to help in the liberation of Remoor, he knew they'd need someone to fix those broken bones and missing limbs and Alfie wanted to be out there, where those clone...those...those killers. He was risking his life, he was risking everything wanting to help complete strangers in a war that had nothing to do with him.
But he grabbed her shoulders and shook her. It had everything to do with him. He was saving lives, but then again...wasn't Mamma living out there in the small towns...out in the open? Those towns, Eros kept hearing that Mewtwo was capturing them, killing innocents...what if Mother...? Eros didn't hesitate. She gave Alfie her graces, and son, that big truck picked up her husband and took him out her life. She wasn't sure how long he would be gone. Alfie Jr because to cry too, he was only ten and he had to wave his father off. Eros wasn't sure what to do, but she knew she had to get her family out of that hellhole before everyone...was hurt...
The tension was actually so thick you could taste it. The town she was born it was quickly emptying out. But Mother, as stubborn as she was, wasn't going anywhere, claiming that Mewtwo could kill her inside her house. Eros wasn't having it, especially when there was literally no one else inside of those empty lots except for one naggy old woman. They would have no trouble killing her. There was no mercy these days. It was reaching a certain climax, it hadn't started yet, but there was enough silence in the air where you could feel it about to happen. It was like, the war was the snapping of a rubber band just to make enough noise to start it.
So when she was caught in the middle, clones swarming over the little town like it was nothing, slamming open that door and towering over them, she already knew they were both probably going to die. Eros just wanted to get mother out of there...
Mother screamed, and Fitz, covered her as best he could. Eros couldn't remember a time she was so frightened, scared enough to lose it and use something she hadn't done in so long. But she doesn't remember what happened. Everything just goes...fuzzy...- Memories of the Fallen,
- Mother Dearest,
- A Throne for the Queen,
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Pokemon:
Name: Fitzgerald, or just "Fitz"
Species: Weavile
Level: 81
Gender: Male
Ability: Pressure
Current Experience: 0/?
Origins: He was found by Lovelace (Eros and the time) when she was only six years old and she got lost. Out of the "kindness of his heart" he led her back to her town, and had taken such a shine to her, he decided to stick around and hadn't gone back to the wild since.
Personality: He's pretty much an old bastard. His fur is almost completely gray now, but hasn't lost the will to fight, and participates in the Bounty system despite his old age. He's snarky and isn't afraid to share his opinion on something, and is an all around blunt guy. He has a special place in his heart for vodka, and loves children. Whenever Lovelace teases him about getting soft in his old age, he gets angry. Really, he's an old softie at heart.
Attacks:
ROLE-PLAYING SAMPLE:
Please insert an example of your writing here, it does not have to be from Remoor, and can even be a story excerpt. It must be at least 100 words, which is our word count. If this is not your first character, delete this section
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