Post by Spirit Marisa Kirisame on Mar 31, 2011 6:02:31 GMT -5
"Journalism is a noble calling. The working journalist is to report, write, and explain in accordance with the highest standards of the profession."
ap·pear·ance [əˈpɪərəns]
n
1. the act or an instance of appearing, as to the eye, before the public, etc.
2. the outward or visible aspect of a person or thing
As the journalist comes into focus, you notice more that he’s much more younger and slender than you would first think. Only being twenty, his work was still able to push him around to completely different regions to become the ‘correspondent’ there and he could not do much about it, especially if he wanted to progress in the industry. His eyes were drawn back, as if in a constant cynical state, paranoid about everyone’s motives. But they were reflecting green; maybe he was just tired, or too focused? He couldn’t always be like that. His long face seemed serious, but showed no sight of age or experience, almost adolescent.
His hair tussled down to the sides of his ears, charcoal in colour as he gently placed his brown fedora back onto his head, hair slightly messed up but at least did not look like he had not cared about it once he woke up. He wore an almost business casual like attire, with a long-sleeved dark purple pinstriped shirt, a brown trench coat draped across his shoulder as he held it closely. The sleeved to his shirt were rolled up halfway up his arm, revealing more of his skin. A steel analogue wristwatch lurked on his right wrist to always keep the time.
His shirt breast pocket was filled up with a pen and a small notepad, of course being a journalist; they were his most valuable tools to keep notes with. Draped across his other shoulder was his messenger bag, it’s contents could not be seen, but it seemed that was his means of writing, with maybe a laptop or something such as heavy, as it seemed to have a pretty big load. As the inside of his jacket revealed it’s self in the wind, you could see each clip on the inside ready to carry pokeballs, it was obvious then where he stored them and was going to reach when it was time to battle.
His pants were clean, black and seemed he has come straight from a business meeting. They were being held up by a white belt, it was strange that it was white as it stood out against the rest of his clothes, though the belt was made out of a strange fabric as it had crinkled notches every few millimetres as if it was like the small notches of the middle of some cardboard. His shirt tucked into them neatly and it seemed they always were free if wrinkles as they stretched down below to his shoes. It had seemed though as the colour brown was very popular as his loafers were of the same colour too, able to stand any enviroment the urban jungle could throw at them.
per·son·al·i·ty [pûrs-nl-t]
n.
1. The quality or condition of being a person.
2. The totality of qualities and traits, as of character or behavior, that are peculiar to a specific person.
(MONTY PYTHON HERE)
(INSERT COIN HERE)