Post by Spirit Marisa Kirisame on Sept 6, 2010 21:48:28 GMT -5
assuming that all things are equal,
who'd want to be men of the people
when there's people like you?
who'd want to be men of the people
when there's people like you?
NAME:
Gruder; an alias from when he was a Rocket that somehow still holds merit. Devhin is his true first name, and Gruder Devhin is as much of a legitimate title as he's willing to indulge. His birth certificate is probably decaying happily behind a 7-11 somewhere.
GENDER:
Male
AGE:
17-ish, as of December 3rd-ish, bringing us right back to that 7-11...
if your hero told you to go huff a sharpie,
would would you do?
would would you do?
APPEARANCE:
Gruder could probably be described as one's first mental portrayal of a confused Latino hipster. Large, geeky, black-framed glasses cover a pair of cold and calculative navy eyes. His complexion is pleasantly tan, with a narrow face (frozen into an expression somewhere between disapproval and the notion his mind is somewhere entirely different at any given point in time). A shaggy soul patch gives his chin personality, sitting amongst a perpetual sea of 5-o'-clock shadow. His black hair is styled into a feauxhawk messy enough to comfortably accomodate a family of Taillow; sometimes he'll cover it with a teal-and-black striped beanie, which has the general effect of shoving a tupperware bowl on a porcupine.
His clothing is nondescript, often advertising some obscure band or monsters eating pedestrians beneath a threadbare gray hoodie. Darker gray jeans and lackluster 'Verse complete the ensemble.
What is perhaps the first thing one would note about Gruder is the fact that he isn't entirely human.
Two almost horizontal Miltank ears protrude from the sides of his head. Their ridiculous nature is amplified by the black gauge piercings in each, moreso by the fact that Miltank is an exclusively female Pokemon. He has a tail to boot, but it's often cumbersome and, unlike the ears, he can make it disappear at will.
PERSONALITY:
In a nutshell? A nutshell; that is, the protective outer layer surrounding a nut. Gruder possesses a cold and criminal brand of guile, but he's relatively harmless. Each of the dark schemes he conjures are like unmotivated racehorses, unwilling to run and instead standing and stomping their hooves irately in the starting gate of his brain.
He's selfish and often doesn't show emotion. People are tools (in all meanings of the word), Pokemon are comrades. If he can use it to get what he wants, he'll keep it near him. He's sarcastic and clumsy. He has a vast rainbow of miscellaneous quirks and phobias. He swears like a sailor.
If you're human, he'll also abandon you when it suits him and never look back unless he lent you one of his CDs.
LIKES:
Pokemon.
Root beer.
Interesting cuss words.
Money.
Gray.
Hitting things with other things.
Popsicles.
DISLIKES:
Annoying people. For Gruder, this is a very broad spectrum of them.
Hot weather.
Oranges.
Physical contact.
Pokemon.
Root beer.
Interesting cuss words.
Money.
Gray.
Hitting things with other things.
Popsicles.
DISLIKES:
Annoying people. For Gruder, this is a very broad spectrum of them.
Hot weather.
Oranges.
Physical contact.
now vince was a loner, a lovable stoner;
he lived in a bluebird, spelled his name backwards.
he lived in a bluebird, spelled his name backwards.
A BRIEF AND PAINLESS HISTORY:
It wasn't that his parents didn't care. It was that they didn't particularly like him; they didn't particularly love him, either. To them, an infant with ears, a tail, and a gut they constantly stared at for fear he would grow an udder was something they hadn't signed up for, and this wasn't the kind of package deal they'd fancied parenthood to be.
And, since they cared, they didn't leave him with a family member or on a doorstep on a snowy night. They left him in the loving and reliable arms of Team Rocket, who embraced that kind of freak of nature in anticipation of supernatural Pokemon powers.
Gruder, as they raised him, was not that brand of lovable little killing machine.
He had no powers. He didn't lactate milk-lasers. Hell, he wasn't even a likeable guy. Seventeen-ish years of his antics, even if a Rocket was supposed to be heartless, and they'd had enough; had they been able to look through his ear, been able to see his brilliant mind as it sparked and whirred, perhaps they wouldn't have kicked him out of headquarters and told him to go make something of himself. Something different. Something very, very far away from them.
Although a bit sad to lose his Zubat, and having known no other life than dodging supervisors town to town and never paying up in stolen Bidoofs like his brainless grunt co-workers, he surmised to become a trainer.