Post by Deleted on Feb 15, 2020 23:43:58 GMT -5
hyacinth may attwater.
THE MASKED POKEMON
| AGE | GENDER | ALLEGIANCE | OCCUPATION |
| EIGHTEEN. | FEMALE. | RESISTANCE. | TUTOR. |
APPEARANCE
It's often the coldest ones with the kindest faces. Hyacinth's resting expression is a soft, easy smile that renders her immediately approachable. Her other facial features are plain but symmetrical in a way that's almost calming to look at. They're framed by long brown hair that trails straight down to her elbows and colored by a fair complexion that has already recovered from the ravages of teenage acne. The one trait that detracts from her friendly presence is her eyes. They're a dull and lifeless dark brown except for in pictures, where they tend to flash red, but she passes them off as resulting from sleep deprivation. Overall, she looks as if she couldn't harm a Cutiefly even if she wanted to. Which of course she wouldn't, right?
Hyacinth has a petite build incapable of holding on to either muscle or fat, so she's weaker than average and doesn't take much room. Her wardrobe consists mostly of loose, feminine clothing such as blouses and skirts. Her style, if that's what it's called, is to put together one or two-toned outfits and then throw her signature red scarf over it. The scarf is so long it has to be wrapped several times around her neck to prevent it from dragging on the ground, and even then it falls all the way to her knees. It's a ridiculous accessory, but she has grown so used to wearing it that she feels thrown off balance when she doesn't have it on.
Hyacinth has a petite build incapable of holding on to either muscle or fat, so she's weaker than average and doesn't take much room. Her wardrobe consists mostly of loose, feminine clothing such as blouses and skirts. Her style, if that's what it's called, is to put together one or two-toned outfits and then throw her signature red scarf over it. The scarf is so long it has to be wrapped several times around her neck to prevent it from dragging on the ground, and even then it falls all the way to her knees. It's a ridiculous accessory, but she has grown so used to wearing it that she feels thrown off balance when she doesn't have it on.
PERSONALITY
| POSITIVE - PATIENT - SENSIBLE - CHARISMATIC - observant - OPEN-MINDED NEGATIVE - DISTANT - LANGUID - DECEPTIVE - UNPRINCIPLED - RUTHLESS | Hyacinth radiates warmth. Though quiet to begin with, she's gifted at reading people and responding accordingly. This coupled with her infinite patient lends her a gravity beyond her years, a soothing aura that draws in the broken and the lost, the strange and the misguided. She is gentle and patient, motherly and sisterly, pure of heart. Every every word she speaks and every move she makes is carefully tailored to not offend. Though she doesn't have much in the way of humor, she makes up for it with her host of other virtues. Surely someone with so much love can be easily loved back. The only problem is that she doesn't mean any of it. Hyacinth isn't quite emotionless, but her emotions mostly range from annoyance to indifference. She has an unusual lack of interest in social relationships that borders on misanthropy. People exhaust, perplex, and irritate her to no end. Why do they have so much drama, so many caprices? How can they live with such intensity? Hyacinth herself views life as little more than a series of chores, which is nothing to get worked up over. She only puts up an act of kindness because a) she recognizes that in order for society to be livable, the people in it must follow at least some basic moral guidelines, b) she finds that life is somewhat easier to navigate when people are willing to do her favors, and c) ever since she started, she hasn't cared enough to stop. This inertia is her most fatal flaw. She has too little energy to enact meaningful change in her life on her own. Once she begins a routine, she mires herself in it even when it makes her miserable. Only major events wrought by sheer circumstance can propel her in another direction. Once this happens, though, she takes it to an extreme. An object at rest may stay at rest, but an object in motion continues in motion. Hyacinth is nothing if not consistent. |
BACKGROUND
Her mother named her Hyacinth after the flower her father wooed her with.
It's the sort of useless sentiment Hyacinth hates the most, given that her father disappeared on them a week before her birth. Hyacinth's mother, an working class woman who never quite lost her innocence, reared their child alone. She did so with neither complaint nor sorrow, but rather anticipation. Hope. She fancied herself a faithful maiden who waited upon her true love though everyone else believed him long gone. If she held down the fort long enough, surely her husband would one day return with riches, stories, and his ever-present smile. The family would be complete at last.
Hyacinth didn't share her mother's confidence. Indeed, Hyacinth wasn't like her mother at all. She was solemn where her mother was joyful, precocious where her mother was naive. There was something soulless about her even as a child, something in the manner she resigned herself to life as if it was just one thing after another. It disturbed her neighbors and peers and teachers in a way they couldn't quite put their finger on. She wasn't ostracized per se, but she was left well enough alone. That suited her just fine.
"You're so much like your father," her mother would say. "He's quiet too. A bit of a brooder, but that's part of his charm. You'll see when you meet him."
Hyacinth knew she would never meet his father. Her mother spoke of him often and at length, and she was able to assemble a vague impression of him from her rose-tinted memories. He was a weary man who tried to have a normal life and so took a normal wife. Once Hyacinth was on the way, though, he realized that he was better off by himself after all. A family would sap what little life he had in him away. So he bounced.
Hyacinth didn't blame him, because she wanted to do the same. She was tired of having to put up with her mother. By this point she had realized that life was easier if she got along with people than if she didn't, so she taught herself to come off as kind. It worked a little too well, and now she had an abundance of friends whose names she could hardly recall. She was tired of them too. Still, she couldn't summon the energy to run away from home and carve out a new life for herself. It seemed like so much work.
Hyacinth dutifully played her roles as the good student, the good friend, the good daughter. She brought home stellar grades and planned to attend a reputable college. She tutored failing students after school in the hush of the library, stroked the hair of girls who cried into her shoulder in the bathroom, advised boys on how best to court their crushes. She took care of her mother, especially when she grew frail from what seemed to be age and work.
It wasn't age or work. It was cancer, which they found out about too late. Hyacinth's mother succumbed quickly and cheerfully, maintaining to the very end that her husband would show up at the doorway with a bouquet of her favorite flowers.
The funeral came and went. Hyacinth's mother had no other family to speak of, so all of her possessions were transferred over to her daughter. Hyacinth loitered for a while, but she knew that she no longer had an excuse to keep stagnating. Her mother had been the one anchor pinning her to a life of normalcy and subsequently misery. She was free. She could go anywhere, do anything. She had to chance to a feel the slightest bit alive for the very first time.
And what better thrill was there than the Resistance?
It's the sort of useless sentiment Hyacinth hates the most, given that her father disappeared on them a week before her birth. Hyacinth's mother, an working class woman who never quite lost her innocence, reared their child alone. She did so with neither complaint nor sorrow, but rather anticipation. Hope. She fancied herself a faithful maiden who waited upon her true love though everyone else believed him long gone. If she held down the fort long enough, surely her husband would one day return with riches, stories, and his ever-present smile. The family would be complete at last.
Hyacinth didn't share her mother's confidence. Indeed, Hyacinth wasn't like her mother at all. She was solemn where her mother was joyful, precocious where her mother was naive. There was something soulless about her even as a child, something in the manner she resigned herself to life as if it was just one thing after another. It disturbed her neighbors and peers and teachers in a way they couldn't quite put their finger on. She wasn't ostracized per se, but she was left well enough alone. That suited her just fine.
"You're so much like your father," her mother would say. "He's quiet too. A bit of a brooder, but that's part of his charm. You'll see when you meet him."
Hyacinth knew she would never meet his father. Her mother spoke of him often and at length, and she was able to assemble a vague impression of him from her rose-tinted memories. He was a weary man who tried to have a normal life and so took a normal wife. Once Hyacinth was on the way, though, he realized that he was better off by himself after all. A family would sap what little life he had in him away. So he bounced.
Hyacinth didn't blame him, because she wanted to do the same. She was tired of having to put up with her mother. By this point she had realized that life was easier if she got along with people than if she didn't, so she taught herself to come off as kind. It worked a little too well, and now she had an abundance of friends whose names she could hardly recall. She was tired of them too. Still, she couldn't summon the energy to run away from home and carve out a new life for herself. It seemed like so much work.
Hyacinth dutifully played her roles as the good student, the good friend, the good daughter. She brought home stellar grades and planned to attend a reputable college. She tutored failing students after school in the hush of the library, stroked the hair of girls who cried into her shoulder in the bathroom, advised boys on how best to court their crushes. She took care of her mother, especially when she grew frail from what seemed to be age and work.
It wasn't age or work. It was cancer, which they found out about too late. Hyacinth's mother succumbed quickly and cheerfully, maintaining to the very end that her husband would show up at the doorway with a bouquet of her favorite flowers.
The funeral came and went. Hyacinth's mother had no other family to speak of, so all of her possessions were transferred over to her daughter. Hyacinth loitered for a while, but she knew that she no longer had an excuse to keep stagnating. Her mother had been the one anchor pinning her to a life of normalcy and subsequently misery. She was free. She could go anywhere, do anything. She had to chance to a feel the slightest bit alive for the very first time.
And what better thrill was there than the Resistance?
POKEMON
NICKNAME. SPECIES. GENDER. LEVEL __.
ATTACK 1. ATTACK 2. ATTACK 3. ATTACK 4. ATTACK 5. ATTACK 6.
ATTACK 1. ATTACK 2. ATTACK 3. ATTACK 4. ATTACK 5. ATTACK 6.
N/A
MISCELLANEOUS
| OOC NAME | FACECLAIM |
| SAIL | [b]KAGEROU PROJECT[/b] - AYANO TATEYAMA, [i]HYACINTH ATTWATER[/i] |
Pokeball x5
Potion x2
Lava Cookie x1