Young Writers Society

If you were invited you should know...so yeah...I suck at flavor text.

Name: James (No last name given)
Age: 32 (12 at Pokebook One)
Gender: Male

History: James was always a rather noble kid, he didn’t like bullies, he didn’t like trouble, and he didn’t like Rocket. He always knew he wanted to be an Officer, help protect the people, and maybe even Rocket. When he was twelve he was offered a spot at The Kanto Police Academy, which he would not be able to attend for three years. Around this time Rocket and Grave had become heavy in the news, and James could never sit there and watch it. Rocket eventually came to Blackthorn, where they tried to take the Walker Dragon Farm over, and he teamed up with a group of kids, Kent Walker included, to take it back. After that point some dark memories haunted him, and he was less than sane.
Eight years later, at the age of twenty, James left the Academy, and became an Officer in Vermilion. As an officer he tended to notice small things, or feel like the ‘busts’ were less than successful. This made him labeled as a conspiracy theorist and because no one would listen to him he began to slip deeper into insanity. He was always on edge, and with each bust, each pestering thought that something was wrong, he got worse. Eventually he snapped, he went berserk during an interrogation, and was kicked off the force. After he was kicked off the force he had his last name changed.

Appearance: James has a very messy appearance lately. His hair is shaggy and unkept, with a long, rough and messy beard (Black Hair) . His clothes are dirty, stained, and smell peculiar. He wears an old flannel-print hat, with the ear flaps, it has several holes in it, patched up with old canvas. The same goes for a ratty old trench coat, the pockets are torn at the bottom, the buttons broken off. He has bright green eyes that dash back and forth, and are either crazy or calculating/focused on something, almost robotic.

Personality: As soon as you meet James you can tell there is something wrong with him. He is always nervous, a little fidgety, and his eyes are always moving around. Aside from his general off- and oddball nature he is a good guy, he’s noble, but his moral high ground and deep caring is cloaked by the his tendency to obsess. James focuses on the small things a little to much for his own good, and will often let them take him off the right path.
The biggest part of his personality is his paranoia, he always feels like he is being watched, and that there is some deeper thing he is missing. When people talk to him he always feels like they are lying or hiding, and can find the little ticks and tells of people. Some call it crazy, but this attention to detail and fear can often help find loose ends others don’t look for.
James is also very talkative, and will ramble for hours on end if given the chance, his Chatot will often chirp in as well, bring emphasis to the most crazy/important words. If you ask him a question be prepared for a long answer, even if it is a yes or no question. Even if you don;t ask a question if something makes him think, or reminds him of something else, he will launch into it and keep going till you kill him.

Societal Role: Former Cop, helped take down Rocket many times before he was kicked out.

Pokemon Team:
#441| Chatot | Record| Soothe Bell | Tangled Feet|
Chatter, Furry Attack, Echo Voice, Sing, Super Sonic

#190| Aipom | Reus| Everstone | Pickup |
Dig, Brick Break, Double Hit, Shadow Ball, Acrobat

#453| Toxicroak| Norris| Toxic Orb| Anticipation
Sucker Punch, Poison Jab, Mud Bomb, Revenge, Rain Dance, X-Scissor


#506| Herdier | Applesauce | N/A | Pickup
Crunch, Shadow Ball, Work Up, Roar, Tackle

__________________________________________________________________________

Name: Clark Jason
Gender: Male
Age: 18
Rank: Rookie
Appearance: Clark has a very young face, looking like he’s still a freshman in highschool, and his height doesn’t help him much. He has a light, almost five a clock shadow, beard that he can’t seem to grow out any further, and soft green eyes. His hair is light brown and he has a military grade buzz cut.
History:
Personality: Clark is a mix of naive, scared, and violent. Clark is young, he hasn't seen as much as his Co-workers, and so he will often play the role of the squeamish or the scared little kid, unable to really get his head around what is going on. He'll often question or pester where he shouldn't, but if you bark at him he'll quickly shut down. But, being a rocket member, he isn't completely good, he has a very morbid sense of humor, and has berserker tendencies when his adrenaline starts pumping, often blanking out for short bursts of time. And while he'll hesitate to kill, he will pull the trigger if it needs to be done.
Pokemon Team:
#237 | Hitmontop | Dradle | Intimidate
Triple Kick, Agility, Quick Attack, Roll out, Rolling Kick, Focus Energy

#8 | Wartortle | TMNT | Torrent
Skull Bash, Water Gun, Rapid Spin, Protect, Rock Tomb

#277 | Swellow | Boreas | Guts |
Wing Attack, Double Team, Aerial Ace, U-Turn, Ominous Wind

#70 | Weepinbell | Venus | Chlorophyll
Gastro Acid, Sweet Scent, Vince Whip, Sludge Bomb, Slam,

Name: Anberlin Blitz

Age: 27 (7 upon first appearance in Pokebook)

Gender: Female

History:
Anberlin was born into a roving gang of Pokemon Circus Performers called the FREAKSHOW. Her father was the ringmaster, Master Peter Volk. While growing up in the FREAKSHOW, Ana gained a strong affinity for electric- and steel-type Pokemon (her first Pokemon partner being an Aron from the Hoenn region). When she was seven years old, her gang of family and friends encountered a band of traveling Pokemon trainers that aimed for the Pokemon League. They inspired her to become the best trainer she could be. Eventually, Ana moved on to become the Pokemon League Champion when she was 15. During her reign, she set a huge example for aspiring trainers and blazed a clear trail in the research of Electric Pokemon. She was the inventor of some of the greatest electric-type moves of her day. Her title lasted for several League Seasons until a man named Vincent claimed her throne.
The League offered Anberlin a remaining seat in the Pokemon league, and she accepted, remaining as one of the Elite Four. However, when the techniques of the League began to seem shady, Anberlin left. She began training in the far east of Kanto in a town on the coast, north of Lavender town. She ended up settling down in that town for a few years, until she got word that something was amiss in the Pokemon world. On the wings of her Skarmory, she fled to the Indigo Plateau where she found herself in the midst of the beginning of the darkest chapter in Pokemon history.
After some time, Anberlin learned to ignore the changing events around her. After her defeat in the League, she lost faith in her ability to change things and thus let the world slip by. It didn’t take her long to adapt to her new life, and she swiftly took up residence north of Lavender Town and took a job as the lead designer for the Drilling Machines powered by the Lavender Plant. Due to the intensive traveling the tunnels took from her, she knows the underbelly of Kanto like the back of her hand.
None of her subordinates know who she once was, and she likes to keep it that way. Nowadays, she has only four Pokemon on her at any time, and those are usually her four favorites--Aggron, Skarmory, Manetric, and Luxray. Rumors have it in the Active Pokemon world that she once owned one of every obtainable steel-type Pokemon, and lacked only a Rotom from having every obtainable electric-type Pokemon.

Appearance: Anberlin is fairly tall and lanky, giving the beholder of her odd beauty the idea of angular steel. Her features are very sharp and defined. She’s constantly wearing metallic jewelry on her fingers, wrists, and neck. Occasionally, she will dye her hair a different hue, but at the beginning of this story, it is a violent Indigo, spiky and short. Anberlin is a fan of wearing black jeans that she customized herself--she had lots of free time--that have small crops of metal plate-mail in random places such as the knees and thighs. She doesn’t much care about what shirt she wears, as long as she’s wearing clothes. She does love, however, black combat boots.

Personality: Anberlin is notorious among her subordinates for being the boss that must get the job done. If something goes amiss, she simply does it herself. She prides herself in her work and conceals her past of Pokemon exploits. Despite this pride, however, Anberlin has lost most inward self-confidence, and conceals this by pushing her abilities in doing her job well in front of others. She feels the compulsiveness to prove herself to those above her, and so she does. This can be a frightening thing considering whom she works for--Vincent Marcus himself.

Societal Role: Head of expansion in Kanto Electric Mining Company (creator of the sub-Kanto tunnels [aka Anberlin Mine])

Pokemon Team:

#306 | Aggron | Magnus | King’s Rock | Rock Head
Rock Climb, Double-Edge, Iron Tail, Rock Slide, Dig, Surf


#212 | Scizor | Raz | Scope Lens | Technician
Slash, Agility, Swords Dance, X-Scissor, Night Slash, Flash Cannon,


#227 | Skarmory | Aeria | Scope Lens | Keen Eye
Slash, Night Slash, Aerial Ace, Fly, Steel Wing, Drill Peck


#405 | Luxray | Nimbus | Scope Lens | Intimidate
Thunder Fang, Ice Fang, Swagger, Discharge, Double Team


#025 | Pikachu | N/A | Magnet | Static
Quick Attack, Agility, Light Screen, Thunderbolt, Rain Dance, Thunder, Flash


___________________________________________________________________________

Name: Vincent Marcus

Gender: Male

Age: 25

Rank: Boss Rocket

Appearance: Perhaps the simplest words to describe Vincent Marcus would be young and lusty. His entire physical persona consists of distinct, angular attributes that give him the room presence of a razor blade. Each feature seems fine-cut and sculpted for charisma and power. His pride is housed in a mesh of Roman gold hair. A pair of power-blue eyes sets his driving force in motion, and his physique would put the Antichrist to shame.

History: Vincent was adopted as a twelve-year-old boy by a man named Anthony Marcus. He was taught no ways by which he could express his inward emotions other than by vicariously battling his problems away through Pokemon. It didn’t take Vincent long to feel wary about this practice, so he began to question the world around him and society. As he escalated rapidly in the Pokemon Battling world, he grew sicker and sicker of his actions. When he clenched the throne as League Champion of the Tojoh landmass, he put his prized team of Pokemon away and turned to his natural strengths and wickedness to propel his political agenda forward.
A year after claiming his victory, Vincent sold his soul for Team Rocket, who in turn made him the epicenter of their operations. For six years, he has forced his ‘visionary’ approach upon the lives of all Kantonites. Celadon was the first to fall. Now under stringent control in most locales, Kanto quivers beneath his wake.

Personality: Curious as to the origins of power. He is intrigued by things that warp his mind and finds unnatural liberation the most inebriating concept in perspective. His mind is very difficult to change. Most would consider him a madman; he considers himself a revolutionary savior. His major theory regarding universal advancement incorporates a twisted idea that the world will act as a phoenix, merely needing to burn before recuperating. He is well aware of his faults and defends his beliefs to the best of his ability. He believes strongly that he will fall one day to a ‘hero’ that plays his foil, and he accepts this with open arms...as long as that hero can prove himself.
Vincent has a strange empathy for Pokemon that seems twisted from the outside observer. This empathy is so extreme that he has a plot devised to ultimately unite himself with the entity of a Pokemon. Project: OMNIA.

Pokemon Team: N/A

Name: Antonin Durand
Age: 34 (14 during PbkI)
Gender: Male

History: Though he was born in Saffron City, Anton spent the majority of his childhood in the outskirts of Mahogany Town, where his naturalist parents were working. Anton, left to his own devices most days, quickly fell in with a bad crowd. There was nothing to it but the occasional mean prank and bullying, and Anton managed well enough with his studies and the rest that the parents never paid much more attention to his extracurricular activities. Alas, his brightness did catch some attention, namely that of a scary, scarred Rocket member, and it wasn’t long before Anton was duly... convinced that joining up was in his best interests. Then came the odd, crazy bunch of kids, and while he did get his ass handed to him, he’d been not bored for the first time in years. Rocket-ship still was far from ideal, but when you didn’t have a choice... roll with it, was how Anton had always dealt with things.
And then they put him through school, or at least helped with it, and years went on and things just... snowballed. He got more and more implicated in the Rockets internal affairs and plans for the world, and he was getting into it and getting his hands dirty with the rest of them and couldn’t quite find it in himself to hate it. He even made himself a bit of a reputation, for being that smarmy bastard that was pretty damn good at interrogating suspects and playing little games with them, and it’d be lying to say he didn’t enjoy it.
Possibly he should not have extended his playground to his colleagues. As fun as it was to see a high-and-mighty asshole turned into a gibbering wreck, spending the following six months jumping at shadows expecting a knife to the back was less so. Problem was, by the time he realized he should back off it was too late, and half the base was out for his hide, while the remaining half was spreading rumours of his being a traitor to the group.
He wasn’t stupid enough to hang around much longer, and when the final, decisive order to get rid of him came from upstairs, he was long gone.
He’s been laying low ever since, carefully ruminating on his hopeless plans of revenge, and even more carefully trying to stay alive as long as possible.

Appearance: Short and thin, there’s nothing at all that’s imposing about Anton, especially when the very way he holds himself most of the time is designed to make people notice him as little as possible. Light brown eyes sharp behind the frames of his glasses and prematurely greying dark hair, he looks more like a paper-pusher than a mighty Rocket operative, and the light-colored, casual clothes do little to dispel the impression. That’s the point.

Personality: Anton is, to all intents and purposes, an intelligent, smart man, albeit one with a vaguely disturbing interest in mind games and a few sociopathic tendencies. The lucky people that get to see a little more of him are usually quick to wish that he’d stopped at that.
No such luck. Anton has never been one for moderation when something interests him, and if that which catches his interest usually turns out to be breathing, living beings that make the most delightful noises when afraid or in pain, well. What can you say. Anton likes to know how people work--what makes them happy, or worry, or scared, and he’ll be more than happy to lend a sympathetic ear to a friend (read: a convenient test subject) feeling the need to vent. Anton, after all, is a very good listener, and knows when to shut up, which has helped him quite a bit in the Rockets.
He’s not the kind for open conflict, and truth be told, he can be quite cowardly when push comes to shove. Staying alive and intact takes priority over dignity and pride, after all. And Anton is so very patient, the knife in the back or the cyanide in the coffee will come when even the most paranoid of men will have dropped his guard, if only a little. On the other hand, he’s also a bit missing in impulse control at times, leading him to snoop in places he shouldn’t be or toying with people he really should know not to.
He wasn’t always like this, or at least not this bad, but the world’s falling to ruins and somewhere along the way his sanity decided it wasn’t needed. That’s not to say he’s completely batshit insane, no. Anton’s is the quiet, bright-eyed madness that peeks out under cold calculations and gentle smiles.

Societal Role: Ex-Rocket operative, currently on the run

Pokemon Team:

#065 | Alakazam | Kant | Focus Band | Synchronize
Psychic, Teleport, Reflect, Psybeam, Recover


#042 | Golbat | Jonah | Smoke Ball | Inner Focus
Fly, Cross Poison, Bite, Air Slash, Astonish


#359 | Absol | Ariel | Scope Lens | Pressure
Night Slash, Swords Dance, Pursuit, Double Team, Psycho Cut



Name: Seth Blackburn
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Rank: Field Ops/Guard dog for the higher-ups

Appearance: Seth may not be the best-looking man around, but if there is one thing about him, it is that he is completely and utterly at ease in his own skin. When he moves it is with the confident stalk of a predator in his element, and when still he still gives an aura of coiled power. If Vincent is a blade, Seth is granite; steady, enduring, silent. Cropped black hair and dark grey eyes, impeccable clothes, ever-present gloves, and, of course, the pale raised line of the scar that slashes over his throat: Seth is leashed danger, and he knows it as well as you do.

History: Other than the fact that his upbringing was a tad more severe than most, Seth grew up rather normal and well-balanced, all things considered. He was another one of those quiet types, not too smart or too dumb, content with mediocre results. He dropped out of higher education after a year, and got enrolled into the Rockets through some complicated series of events he doesn’t even remember all that well. He took to it easily, and finding a place where he just had to mindlessly do as told was almost a relief. His thoroughness, aptitude at battle and increasing lack of morality bumped him up from fresh meat to a position in Pewter City, where the battles were getting increasingly violent. He did his part, and well, and if one operation went terribly wrong, stranding him in the middle of enemies and ending with a narrow escape that left its mark, most noticeably in the fact that he could no longer speak, or at least not without some serious pain, it certainly was through no fault of his own. Following that incident, he was pulled back, and more or less became the guy to call when you needed someone to shut up.

Personality: Say whatever you will about Seth, he is and will always be loyal, and, by extension, obedient. It’s something he takes pride in; if he’s given a task, no matter how insignificant or monstrous it may be, he will nod and go about to it. Personal feelings are not something he ever cares about, and he’s gotten pretty good at simply discarding them. There’s a catch, though: Seth is not loyal to anyone so much as he is to an image, a position--namely, that of Rocket leader. It doesn’t matter to him who or how it is; if you’ve got the title and the competency to hold it, you’ve got Seth. He literally has no life outside of Team Rocket, and is on the job 24/7, just waiting for a chance to be useful. He’s not one to take leadership; he’s good at following orders, so it’s what he does. His only obvious weakness, if one could call it that, is his affection for his pokemons. They’re probably the only thing he has that resembles friends, and he treats them accordingly. They’re also the only beings he trusts; given he cannot speak, he leaves full reign to them during battle, and hasn’t had a reason yet to regret it.

Pokemon Team:

#059 | Arcanine | N/A | Flash Fire
Crunch, Fire Fang, Extremespeed, Flamethrower, Thunder Fang


#335 | Zangoose | N/A | Immunity
Strength, False Swipe, Crush Claw, X-Scissor, Pursuit


#448 | Lucario | N/A | Inner Focus
Dark Pulse, Metal Claw, Aura Sphere, Dragon Pulse, Force Palm


#389 | Torterra | N/A | Overgrow
Razor Leaf, Earthquake, Giga Drain, Crunch, Wood Hammer

Name: Hyacinth Landon

Age: 29 (9 during Pokebook 1)

Gender: Male

History:

Hyacinth is the youngest of five siblings, with four older sisters. He comes from a fairly affluent family, who run a Pokemon breeding business. They have several branches scattered throughout the region, and are known for providing top-notch care for the Pokemon left in their hands.

Growing up, Hyacinth was sheltered and babied by his older sisters and his mother. His father was almost always absent, off to a business trip or something, but when he had time, he spent it with his son. Hyacinth wasn’t exposed to the world, or to the escalating crimes of Team Rocket. Their family frequently paid Team Rocket to leave them and their businesses alone, so for this reason, Hyacinth knows a few Rockets as friends as opposed to enemies.

Hyacinth has always harbored a strange love for Pokemon, and his parents were always quick to give him the Pokemon he wanted. He’d never actually gone out and caught a Pokemon on his own, and did not know that was possible until he took over the company four years ago. His father’s Alzheimer has worsened to the point where he sometimes calls Hyacinth by one of his sister’s names, so Hyacinth has learned to respond to Isabella, Franziska, and Julia in addition to his own name. Recently, Rocket has begun to harass his business, and it’s annoying him. Very much. Hyacinth never liked people getting in his way, and the Rockets are no different. Still, he’s somewhat oblivious and thinks only rogue rockets are going after him, and remains firm in his stance that not all Rockets are bad.

Appearance:

Hyacinth has brown hair and blue eyes in addition to extremely angular features. Consistently wears what he wants, even if the weather disagrees with him. He could wear sunglasses on a cloudy day, or a hat and shorts during freezing weather. When it’s a normal sunny day, he’ll be wearing a suit, even if he’s only heading out for a morning walk. Stands quite tall at 6”2, and is pretty lanky.

Personality:

Being the baby of the family, Hyacinth has been spoiled and always wants things his way. He is stubborn and more than a little immature, prone to throwing tantrums and fits. He’s a bit of a dreamer, and often has his head in the clouds. He has all sorts of odd ideas and will happily admit the existence of luck. Sometimes says inappropriate things (not that way, guys lulz), and is completely oblivious to others’ needs. He’s selfish and uncaring, laid-back and sometimes condescending. He doesn’t really give a shit about what you think, nor does he care for what you have to say, and has an attention span even shorter than the one a fly has. Is very easily delighted, but just as easily upset. Fairly volatile, and throws tantrums when pissed.

Societal Role: One of the power players in the corporate world.

Pokemon Team:
#248 | Tyranitar | N/A | N/A | Sand Stream
Crunch, Rock Slide, Thunderbolt, Earthquake, Hyper Beam
#229 | Houndoom | N/A | N/A | Early Bird
Crunch, Flamethrower, Dark Pulse, Flame Wheel, Sunny Day
#426 | Drifblim | N/A | N/A | Aftermath
Shadow Ball, Air Slash, Night Shade,Calm Mind, Ominous Wind, Psychic
#157 | Typhlosion | N/A | N/A | Blaze
Flamethrower, Fire Plume, Flame Wheel, Swift, Rock Climb
#094 | Gengar | N/A | Spell Tag | Levitate
Shadow Ball, Shadow Punch, Toxic, Hypnosis, Dream Eater
________________________________________________________

Name: Imogen Devlin

Gender: Female

Age: 22

Rank: Wing Commander

Appearance: Imogen is gorgeous, and she knows it. High, fine cheekbones, curves in all the right places, and legs that go on forever - she’s young, and raring to go. Her hair is a deep shade of red with a distinct brown tint. Her eyes are a clear, almost innocent blue-green that hide her true loyalties. She often dresses fashionably when not in uniform, and when she wears the uniform, it’s form-fitting. Rumors that she achieved her position on her back aren’t entirely baseless. (How else would she have gotten so far so quickly?)

History:

Whereas most other rockets have freudian excuses for the way they are, Imogen has none. She was raised in the quiet city of Viridian. Her father was never absent and often took her fishing. Their family enjoyed a quiet, satisfied life. They were never the richest in town, of course, but they always had enough money for everything they needed. Her parents don’t know where they went wrong - Imogen was the little girl teachers and old ladies loved, the one her friends looked up to. She was never too busy for anyone, and always had time to lend a helping hand. She was no over-achiever, but she dabbled in almost everything, which allowed practically anyone to strike a conversation with her without much difficulty.

Somewhere down the line, though, she stumbled and got caught up in a messy affair. Or rather, she got caught, period. It caused a scandal when it was discovered. Fifteen-year-old Imogen Devlin, the town angel, and the 39-year-old Rocket who terrorized Kanto, together in a hotel. At first, it was passed off as baseless rumors. Then the pictures came, and rumors of a video surfaced. Imogen suffered bullying and taunting by the boys, but somehow, she managed to keep her head held high and, thank you Mom for various self-defense classes, left a few boys in the mud.

Shortly after it was found out, Imogen left her life for Team Rocket after that, and slowly rose through the ranks of Team Rocket. Little Lolita never shed her nickname, though, and is still called Lola by a select few.

Personality:

Contrary to what her looks might suggest, Imogen is charming, quiet and soft-spoken, hardly ever voicing her thoughts out loud. She moves about quickly and stealthily, not really wanting to attract attention. She doesn’t scream, doesn’t get mad, and is incredibly patient about a lot of things. Madness, insanity, tragedy, depravity - all these are dealt with a soft smile and a touch of optimism. Despite all that, though, she’s sharp and quick, ruthless and effective. She’s the quiet girl in the back you underestimated. Rumors fly about her, and she has as many men in her life as she has clothes. One-night stands with the boss? Sure, why not? Men flock to her as bees do honey, and she's not averse to squeezing them dry before dumping them.

Subservient and unassuming, she often nods and gives in to other people’s wishes, only to backstab them when their goals become detrimental to her own welfare. This makes her a key player in Rocket politics - she has many of the older members wrapped around her finger, and has caused the downfall of more than a few so she can usurp their position. It's not easy being a girl in a male-dominated organization, and she does what she has to.


Pokemon Team:

#142 | Aerodactyl | Aerith | Rock Head

Dragon claw, Fire blast, Earthquake, Crunch, Fly

#227 | Empoleon | N/A | Torrent

Ice Beam, Drill Peck, Waterfall, Surf, Giga Impact

#376 | Metagross | N/A | Clear Body

Psychic, Strength, Brick Break, Sludge Bomb, Flash Cannon

#462 | Rhyperior | N/A | Solid Rock

Thunderbolt, Flamethrower, Earthquake, Stone Edge, Stomp

Name: Tori
Age: 29 (9 in the first pokebook)
Gender: Female

History:

Tori is the niece of one of the famous Nurse Joys- though luckily she doesn’t endure the namesake. She grew up helping her aunt in the Vermilion pokecenter, learning how to look after and treat pokemon- much to her mother’s frustration. Understandably, Tori’s mother was concerned about her family’s obsession with pokemon- having almost all of her family members in the business- and was not too pleased that her daughter was showing the same signs of wanting to care for pokemon as her sisters and cousins. Tori was forced to sneak out of the house to help her aunt, who was sympathetic. After all, Tori’s mother had always been the odd one in the family. As she grew she became more and more estranged from her mother, who could find no way to curb the enthusiasm in her daughter for pokemon. By the age of thirteen Tori had all but moved into the pokecenter, sleeping on spare trolleys and earning her keep by working.

As she reached adulthood, Tori became restless and left the pokecenter, hoping to find a place for her curative talents elsewhere. She considered briefly becoming a breeder, but decided against it- opting instead to open a health centre for pokemon in the nearby forest. People come from all over to treat their pokemon here, when seeking for more than a normal pokecenter can offer in terms of stress relief. Of course, she has been struggling ever since in the declining economy, and has recently resorted to selling her business. She has been travelling ever since, acting as a medic for those who need it and taking what payment people can pay her.

Appearance:

Tori has the signature red hair of her family, but to hell she’ll wear it like her aunt. She usually keeps it cut short. Her eyes are a clear green. Her features are fairly soft, though she has a stubborn set to her jaw. She wears shorts and trainers, and a simple blue t-shirt- fairly standard wear for those on the road. She is short and slight.

Personality:

Tori is passionate about her pokemon, and years of looking after them has taught her a lot about individual pokemon, the care of, and how to heal sick and injured pokemon. As a result, nothing makes her more upset or angry than an abused pokemon. She will protect her team with her life and spends a lot of time making sure they are in the best condition. She’s stubborn and has become a bit bitter over the years, often treating a trainer’s pokemon much better than the trainers themselves. Once she relaxes, though, she is kind and even knows a little about tending to human’s wounds too.

Societal Role: Travelling medic, ex-health center owner.

Pokemon Team:

#113 Chansey | Chelsie | N/A | Natural Cure
Softboiled Egg Bomb Doubleslap Sing Takedown Healing Wish

#47 Parasect | Scoot | N/A | Effect Spore
False Swipe Giga Drain Aromatheorapy Fury cutter Solar Beam

#176 Togetic | Airmid| N/A | Serene Grace
Wish Follow me Extrasensory Last Resort

#311 Plusle | Zap | N/A | Plus
Helping Hand Thunder Charge Swift Trump Card

#312 Minun | Zip |N/A | Minus
Helping Hand Agility Thunder Electro ball Quick Attack

#58 Growlithe | Zed || N/A | Flash Fire
Flamethrower Fire Fang Crunch Flare Blitz

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Name: Charlotte Carlmin
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Rank: Grunt
Appearance:

Charlotte has obviously dyed black hair, and she likes to have blood-red tips because she thinks they make her ‘mysterious’. She wears dark clothes, close-fitting clothes. She’s fairly tall and a bit boney, and keeps herself pale.
History: Charlotte was always ‘that’ girl- the one who thought it was cool to dress up as a witch on mufti day at school, and was constantly sent to the principal for wearing far too much make-up. She comes from a middle-class, normal and well balanced family. They went to church on Sundays and said their ‘please’s and ‘thankyou’s, and her family was fairly well respected, if not noticed. That was Charlotte’s problem- all she wants is to be noticed. So she decided to join Team Rocket- because that’s the rebellious thing to do, right?

Personality:

She will pretty much do anything to be noticed. She’s desperate to be promoted, and she doesn’t care how. She prefers dark type pokemon- a throw back to her gothic phase as a kid. She has a large ego which is easily bruised

Pokemon Team:

#570 Zorua | Wikken |N/A| Illusion
Fury Swipes Night Daze Foul Play Scary Face

#430 Honchkrow | N/A|N/A| Super Luck
Foul Play Wing Attack Night Slash Pursuit

#510 Liepard | N/A|N/A| Limber
Night Slash Fury Swipes Assurance Slash

Anberlin Blitz | "The Hell Mine" Sub-Lavender Town

Anberlin held in her breath, the space in her chest constricting as flares lined the walls. The bodies power the city. They were all in a line, a morbid train of cadavers awaiting their lift. And with each flash of the furnace they each neared the heart of the beast. Anberlin, Miss Mangled Machine took another step forward, eyes downcast on the floor covered in ash. She could be standing on her father’s remains, her mother’s memory. The ash, the flares, even the heat in the hallway blasted her back into the days before, the years when this would all just be a passing nightmare on Halloween. Without the apprehension of last thoughts, she wondered how this all came into being.

She remembered the ironworks, the scarlet FUEGO stamped across her chest and helmet, and how she would come to bed every night as black with soot as the night sky. She remembered her time in Kanto, her reign as champion, and how she fell to him.

Pull the lever, release a soul. Rinse and repeat.

The line moved on, and a man just ahead of her made a groaning noise. It was the cry in the night of apprehension, of nearing the end of the shoreline without a way to pass. The pessimism of an eternal unknown. The cry of fire.

“Ana.”

Pull and release.

But could it have been ultimately on her shoulders? All of this--the incineration, the toxic society that had consumed an entire country--it all came to pass because of her folly in the championship. And each step these corpses took, each carmine flash was just a recollection of her failure.

But it was ultimately her own conscience that haunted her. How many defectors had she killed? Marcus no doubt had a machine keeping tabs, and he could pull up a screen that could show him how much of a monster each of his employees was. Anberlin closed her eyes as she pulled the lever and felt the wave of heat blast against her cheeks.

It was too dark, too hot to be the earth. She felt like a Pokemon slave to the overlord, hauling his machines across the countryside, releasing flares to weld together barricades and barracks. She was nothing more than a human war machine.

Anberlin touched her face, the hot metal covering her fingers singeing across her flesh. Suddenly, she couldn’t pull the lever.

“Ana.” The brutal voice from a guard down the line broke through her pensiveness, but Anberlin kept her eyes shut tightly. Soft whimpers began rising from the line of prisoners, small girls holding onto legs of their last-minute mothers. Dissension breeds hope. Hope in the hall of fire breeds tears. Anberlin clutched the lever so tightly her fist lost blood. The sounds of that little girl crying got louder, and Anberlin opened her eyes to see her face--and just yards below, Anberlin watched as the girl fell to her knees between the hall of fire and the incinerator. She would live until Anberlin pulled the lever and the wall between the girl and the woman and the prisoners shut off, capturing her ready for the flames.

“Ana.” The guard was behind her now, shaking his head. “Seal the gate, Ana.”

She remained quiet, still as a tombstone. The girl cried, held onto the woman, and turned her head up to Miss Fate, pleading with her eyes. “Do you think I’ve killed a thousand children, Thomas?”

The guard didn’t reply.

“And their crimes...are against Marcus, not me.” Others began to cry in the line, the tunnel filling with the mourning of a national funeral.

“I can’t do it.” Ana shook her head, turning to look at Thomas. “I can’t.”

“Then I will,” he said brusquely, pushing her aside. He reached for the lever, but Anberlin recoiled with a kick to his groin. Thomas swung for her arms to detain her, but Anberlin shifted her weight against his leverage; the two fell from the lever platform into the fire tunnel. Thomas nabbed Anberlin by the collar and hoisted her into the air, slamming her against the ashy stone wall. She reached for her belt, a near-instinctive solution, and fell to the ground as Thomas was knocked back by a furious Aggron.

Anberlin scrambled to her feet and glared at Thomas as he released his own Pokemon in response, a towering Golurk. The two Pokemon clashed in the Fire Tunnel, warding the prisoners back against each other. Aggron smashed into the golem Pokemon with an Iron Tail. Golurk brought down his fist on Aggron, hammering him back to the wall. Anberlin was nervous; she knew how powerful the guards’ Pokemon were, and even with Aggron being a champion, he was no match in this environment.

But an idea suddenly hit her like a blast of hot air. “Aggron! Trap them!” Anberlin scrambled back to her platform as Aggron swept his Iron Tail beneath the feet of both Golurk and Thomas. The two partners fell back into the incinerator’s chamber and Anberlin heaved down on the lever, bringing the wall down. Thomas let out a maddened scream before the fire came down, silencing him.

Permanently.

Realization, the power of a hundred battering rams, hit Anberlin as the putrid air gusted from the furnace. The prisoners had gotten the idea already, and were rioting; she called back Aggron and stole away through the tunnels before the other guards could find her.

Antonin Durand | Cerulean City Base - Inner Levels
When all was dark in the world, there was a certain comfort to be found in knowing that you were among the worst of the beings that dwelt in the shadows. It was power, of a sort, and a shield--a cloak to draw around yourself, to ward off the creeping discomfort and the insidious paranoid thoughts that slithered in while you weren’t paying attention: . It did not happen often, because Anton knew his own mind better than anything else in the world, because it was the only weapon he was sure to have at all times, but here--here even he worried.

This was where they kept the worst of them all. Under the sound of his footsteps, his breathing, he could hear their voices, sauntering over the corner and coming to curl somewhere around the first couple vertebrae, pinging against a lizard brain that wanted nothing more than to get out, and now. Some shouted all day long, voices hoarse and screeching like nails against the metal walls. The more dangerous ones just whispered sweet nothings to the dull lights and to the cracks in the walls, and cracked jokes to the shadows of those few souls that dared wander through their hallways.

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate. He’d written that on the gate the second time he’d come here. If you looked carefully you could still see scratches where the ink hadn’t completely faded.
It is when all goes quiet that danger is greatest. Animals know that, and so did Anton. In the deeper levels of the complex the doors ceded the space to blank, blank walls, and a silence more suffocating than all the oceans in the world. Every footstep sounded like a verdict. In front of him a door slid open, silent and ominous. Behind it there lay glass, and those endless lights, and the man he could not help but come back to. He had not noticed Anton’s approach, not yet, facing away from the door as he was. But when he did--the scars shifted over old skin, and even after all those years it was them that drew his eye first.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite boy.” He’d never liked that smile; it slid over him like oil, sank into his bones, and didn’t leave for days. To meet the older man’s gaze was like taking a step in the dark when you knew there was a precipice just close by. You knew one day you’d fall, and from those depths there would be no coming back.

“I see they haven’t improved the scenery.” He scuffed his shoes against the ground, cast a bored look about the place. His hands were shaking, but tucked inside the pockets of his jacket they were safely out of the other man’s sight.

But he was mad, that man, and not a fool. Even a rabid dog could smell fear. Anton flinched as dark eyes bore into his, at the glimpse of dirty white teeth under an upturned lip. “I see you still haven’t grown a spine.”

Scarred hands rose against the glass, white from age and artificial lights. The shiver that ran up Anton’s spine was unwelcome, though familiar. “Couldn’t resist seeing the old man one last time, could you? Well, there I am. Take a good look, boy.” He leaned in, and the glass fogged under his breath, a veil of pale mist before the mismatched lines of his face. “It’s not everyone who gets to see their future.”

"I don't ever intend to end up like you, you know." The simple idea made bile rise up in his throat, but there was a certainty burning inside the older man's voice, that made the taste of it linger dangerously. "But yes, I couldn't leave without seeing your ugly face again, or letting you know I'd be out breathing that nice fresh air you haven't felt in... what, a decade or two?" He smirked. "If they ever think to ask you, tell them I said Fuck you all, will you?"

There was a flash of danger over that scarred flesh; old instincts made him step back, braced for a blow, despite the barrier between them--and then there was laughter, spilling out like worms out of a rotting wound, crawling over the walls, and words between them, half-drowned and still limping to his ears--I'll see you soon.

Anton stared at him, and the lights were flickering, flashing, dying, and still the man laughed as the darkness slowly laid her wings into the cage, spread their tips towards his feet.

Anton fled.