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    1. Karkinos 10 yrs ago

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ᴇɴᴛᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ ꜰʀᴇꜱʜᴍᴀɴ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴏᴡ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ꜱᴛᴇᴀᴍ, ᴏɴᴇ ʀᴘ ᴀᴛ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ. ()
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brr-ing, brr-ing (post man) > > > [ ]
Kark11#8860 on Discord.

make the shit, i wear the shit > > > [ ]
My character archive is HERE.

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Portia O'Mahony
{ #FAAC58 }
{ Original art }



"Right, I'm sure I can remember that."


Gender: Female.
Age: Thirteen.
Hometown / Region: Lacunosa Town, Unova.

"...wait, remember what?"


Appearance:
A petite Trainer at 59 inches, a delicate one at 76 pounds; with those factors combined with a perceptible sense of girlishness, she irrefutably looks her age. Her other, more prominent features are attributable to genealogy. Portia has the red hair of her father and the grey eyes of her mother, yet, oddly, only seemingly attained the pale complexion of the former.

In the world of travelling Pokémon Trainers, it is much preferred that outfits be as recyclable as possible, an article like a jacket that can be thrown on repeatedly, a dark pair of shorts that don't stain as well. Portia's attire applies to this sense of practicality; it is, at every moment, the same, and regardless of any minuscule nuances or added touches, it appears utterly identical, one day to the next: an outfit dominated by dark-grey, subsequently lightened with vibrant highlights of orange, yellow, and green supplied through accessories and seemingly-extraneous details, such as the button on her chest. It is an outfit born of meticulous crafting and a mind much more attuned to fashion sense and color scheme than she. Truthfully, in spite of the comfortable shoes and thigh-shielding tights perfect for combing tall grass, Portia's ensemble can leave a very dainty and doll-like impression, one additionally ascribable to the sense that she wears pretty clothing chosen for her out of obligation.

Personality / Main Ambition(s):
As laconic as she is, Portia retains a sense of ardor imperishable. She has a determined, self-righteous belief in herself and, being a teenager driven to loathe subordination, cooperation is not a privilege she will easily provide. Portia is emotionally-driven and easy to emotionally overwhelm. She is intrepid as well as observant and shrewd. Most predominantly, she is lost. The past year of her life has been bewildering, a consuming nightmare that has eternally branded her, and now, Portia is on a mission to not only pursue her previous passion but to rediscover the spirit that makes up who she really is, for all that fervor and temper only emerges today in fizzling flashes, temperamental sparks of personality. Otherwise, Portia is drone-like, detached from the world around her and gazing outwards with glazed-over eyes, both inquisitive and dispassionate. Instinct urges her to take interest in everything, but what does it really matter if she cannot remember what she sees?

History:
Portia's predestination as a Pokémon Trainer was essentially set upon her conception. Assistant Professor Ana Basil had lived in Alola all her life and attempted the island trials herself before becoming a participant in the scientific efforts to study how the distribution of foreign Yungoos had impacted the populations of Melemele Island. Fiacre O'Mahony, an acclaimed fashion designer and avid breeder from Lumiose of mixed Kalis and Unovian origin, met her whilst on vacation in Hau'oli City. It was inevitable their daughter would be deeply involved with Pokémon. In fact, the girl displayed considerable promise in, and observable obsession of, the art of Training, beginning from the moment she tried to catch a Tranquil with a pretend Poké-Ball at six years old.

Portia's parents moved to Lacunosa where she was born, a town isolated from much of the region, framed by tangled woodland and lying just northwest of the mighty Giant Chasm. It was non-ideal for a beginning Trainer and yet Portia studied on. She consumed textbooks in a handful of days. Her room was smothered with written notes and memorandums. She attended a Pokémon-exclusive education right in her hometown at a public Trainer's School, and from there, learning everything she possibly could became even more of an exhaustive effort. Portia was unnaturally convicted—the passion exhibited by her parents only contributed to her pedantic personality—and, therefore, she was perceived to be unnaturally gifted. The greatest moment in Portia's young life succeeded her greatest achievement: she graduated three months early. At 11, her parents knew she was ready to enter the real world, and enrolled her in the Straiton City Trainer's Academy. It was a school toted as the greatest in the region, offering genuine experiences in the field and opportunities to learn from members of the League and Elite Four, providing parents had the resources.

From that point onward, Portia's experiences fail to matter until the night she returned to Lacunosa to bid her parents farewell before her journey. She got her license at some point after her participation at the academy ended. She got a Pokémon partner of her own too, eventually—Tapu forbid she remember what it was. Their partnership was promising, she can recall, but ephemeral.

It felt very cold that night, unnaturally cold. The townspeople huddled in their homes, once out of tradition, now out of fear. A battleship cut through the sky. Were they at war?

The ice came down in massive spates and Lacunosa was frozen over by the Neo Plasma brigade. Portia woke up hospitalized in the succeeding hours of the early morning and soon found she could remember barely anything at all. Since then, she felt her flame succumb to the chill. Though, on a more positive note, she is recovering relatively well. Her memories are slowly, but undeniably, returning to her and over a year of recuperation in the less-stressful Flocessy Town beside her father has worked substantial wonders on her. However, even in the midst of their success, the doctors, counselors, and various neurological experts paid bountifully by Fiacre—as well as the desperate father himself—could not remain ignorant towards Portia's unhappiness. Mourning over her mother and her condition could not monopolize her life—this was for certain—and she eventually made a rousing plea to her overseers to let her Train again, and yet this yearning was waved off by almost the entirety of them. They "knew" what was best for her: healing here through their means. Portia was incensed and Fiacre, finally, noticed. Most importantly, he understood. If his daughter was to be a Trainer, then so be it, and she surely wouldn't be one here.

Mr. O'Mahony, through conviction and, patently, cash, convinced Alolan professors to prepare for his daughter's arrival and, unsuspectingly to her, watch over her. While doctors were hesitant about sending their patient overseas, their client was not, and Portia was thus set free. No longer a caged bird, but also with only one of her father's Pokemon, a notepad, a few changes of clothes, and the bare essentials; with all her father has provided for her, he could afford little else, not that Portia wouldn't feel distasteful about relying on further assistance. As she sees it, this is her moment, the point where she can grope for the reigns directing her life and eventually hold them tightly in-hand.

Added Context:
The crash caused Portia to sustain serious neurological damage, to the point where she acquired anterograde amnesia, or the inability to store short-term recollections. While Portia can easily, unconsciously remember long-term memories, concepts ingrained into her consciousness through thorough practice, like how to speak, how to ride a bike or even, because of how zealous she was about Training, how to catch a wild Pokémon, she cannot remember declarative details: what she may have eaten for lunch—regardless of when that was—, questions she has been asked, the name of someone else or the color of their shirt. Portia can obtain new procedural ("long-term") memories through repeated exposure and is usually able to respond to a direct inquiry or statement after it is repeated once or twice, possibly without reiteration at all if she can latch onto familiar words or phrases. Much of her semantic memory remains in tact and doctors have attested to the possibility of Portia being relieved from amnesia altogether with gradual exposure to experiences which trigger her remembrance and the own, unalterable healing of her brain with time.

Pokémon Team


Trivia:

  • Coming into Alola, she was issued a special license qualifying her as a Trainer of Psychic-type Pokémon. This is a necessity to have due to the potential, pernicious power Psychic Pokémon can present.
  • Portia's favorite snack is crackers with cheese.
  • "O'Mahony" is an Irish surname that means "bear-calf".
  • The population of Cuba is 11.26 million.
Yessss

Glad to see everything's in-line. My questions still stand just in case and I can tweak things as we go. Otherwise, I'm pretty excited to play Portia! This is the second time I've used the concept (first time on this particular site) and I want to try a couple of iterations before setting her character in stone.

Having that connection with Io is perfect, too. Nice to be a part of the pack! I should put Portia in the Characters tab, correct?
Oof, I definitely have a character idea for this but look at all this interest already!

Honestly, we'll have to see how well my character will mesh in such a modest group. I'll take the chance anyway since I've already sunk the hours in but it'll really depend on who applies overall. Honestly, I think she could fit into the dynamics pretty easily if at least one of the "professors" I reference whom were paid to keep an eye on her are involved with or a part of the main group.



wow that transparency did not come out as i hoped it would

I can age her up a little bit depending on your interpretation of the world, GM, but I do want to keep her pretty young (it's not because I'm creepy, it's just how I imagine her). My personal head-canon is that the Unova region distributes Trainer's licenses to Trainer's School graduates—courses which last up to six months and can be taken starting at a pretty age—starting at age 12.

I apologize if Meowstic seems like a bit of an extreme choice for a beginner, no matter how much that beginner studied, but I did try my best to justify the decision, it is her only Pokemon so far, and, honestly, I just really want to use the title "Of Meowstic and Memories" at some point and it would devastate me if I lost access to that chance.

Also please correct Portia's weight if it's too unrealistic! There's so much research I can do on the ideal weight for a 4' 9" girl in one sitting before I begin suffering serial boredom... (It's a pedantic detail but a detail none the less.)
In Spray 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Oof, definitely not gonna be able to pull a post-per-day thing. Except something either Friday or Saturday.
In Spray 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Writing will get more natural as I get back into the flow of things, but my first post is up. 4/20.
In Spray 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
I. High-ena

The Confiance she knew was all silence and smoke at nighttime. Moonlight was mythical; the sun clicked out and the slums were finally swallowed by the unobstructed shadows of the uppermost cityscape and, finally, they took on that attributed insidiousness, physically now, not entirely figuratively. With one great light put out, all others followed. The Confiance slums were in blackout mode; no cop cars, no sirens singing tonight. The only cacophony came from break-ins and drive-bys and violent confrontations scorned by daylight, the "throne-sitters'" enforcement of justice. But equity was the streets' decisions now. At night, they could run their kingdom, and that meant going out at night was a gamble. It was unpredictable whether things would turn from placid to panicked in a matter of minutes. The only things you could ever confirm: the brevity of chaos—it would always be quiet before daybreak—and that the night would always smell of smoke.
Regardless, if you knew no one could find you, nothing mattered. There were probably plenty who wanted to; she wondered if she'd be able to recognize anyone. Her hideout that evening was a scrapyard wrapped with an unsound chain-link fence whose lock had been popped open and left dangling by some dark-skinned girl with a head teeming with dreads. She'd forgotten how she'd gotten here and why she'd chosen the derelict place in-particular—she irrefutably had, and she put a hand to her mouth in an attempt to keep from laughing. She was leaned back against a brick wall doused in images of big-headed cats and rats and aliens, bug-eyed fish that swam around her, all psychedelic pinks and purples, weaving in-between loops, clouds, stars, abstract 3-D constructs. She had no idea how any of it had gotten there, what any of it meant—someone had put their full, capitalized name in a scintillating orange and it half-plotted out the face of some ogling toad-looking creature. She was crying.
Her cackling sizzled from her throat and, in her mania, she fought to steady herself on her skates. A surfeit of spray cans tumbled out of her lap and she sacrificed the nearly-dead roll of paper in-between her fingers to stoop down and pick them up. It was a struggle to strap them to her sides as she couldn't quell her laughter, no matter how hard she tried, as it kept spilling out of her throat until all she could do was throw back her hair and guffaw as the paint cans inevitably fell back into the dirt again. Eventually, she was forced to shove a drove of them underneath her arm before stumbling across the yard. Her other arm was wiping tears from her grinning face before being pressed against the same brick building, and with her balance assured, she skated around the corner and found herself in the wake of the painted-over warehouse. She clenched her teeth together so that the giggling sputtered past them. Her movement was gradual, less than graceful, as she slowly shuffled her feet, and seconds before her hand landed on the door handle she found herself screaming with laughter again. And once that outburst was over with, she turned and apologized
"Ohhh, I'm sorry! I'm—thh-hh-hhhh—oh my god—Imma just go inside... get out of your way...!" The door was half-open now—she exploded into giggles—and immediately let go of the knob as she doubled over. There was a bang as it shut behind her, and she continued to laugh to herself. A conversation unfolded before her, a man's voice hard and monotone. She let it and its impending response play out like a record as the laughter slowly, surely, died away. Hyena finally pressed a palm against her cheek, straightened up, applied the other, let out a deep breath. An equally deep exhale, and then she slipped a hand into the front pocket of her shorts. She wordlessly drew forth the black envelope, its emblem projected forward at the men in the masks.
In Spray 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Just added Minnie to the Characters tab!

I'm really digging this cast so far. Speed Demon's got some killer tech; I'm really fond of Nitrous' personality; Smiles has just been through shit. This'll make for some really fun interactions.
In Spray 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


♥ Full Name: Minette May Quinn

♥ Age: 19

♥ Appearance: Lean young woman of gold-brown complexion with a thick net of dreads hoisted off her forehead. Below her neckline and, most notably, along her thighs are dashes of sunspots and some slight hyperpigmentation. Abstract tattoos dance up her right arm and the dark mark of a beast's fangs stains her upper back. She has ear piercings—two on her right ear—and one just beneath her bottom lip. Identifiable by her Rastafari-esque "mane", blended preference of urban and risqué fashion styles and strapped with double pleather belts, always clutching spray cans.

♥ Personality: Feisty, frisky, fearless; Hyena is a permissive, self-proclaimed troublemaker, a nuisance gleefully up to no good, always. The promises of tagger life are everything she could ever wish for: independence, passive rebellion, expression, and thrill. She is a girl alight with flame and spontaneity, yet what fuels that drive seems to be nothing more than a callow yearning to piss people off. Hyena excels at being both approachable and unexpectedly apathetic, drawing "friends" forward like insects to a streetlamp, before bounding off so fast that the playthings in-question only just realize she's gone. Hyena is both a bright-eyed individualist and an aggravating bond-breaker who rebukes all ideas of authority, an attitude that could be entirely rooted in naivete and a rebellious refusal to adhere to anyone. During confrontations, however, Hyena tends to spin it as girlish indecisiveness, although she is is no champion actress. Very obviously, there is an underlying level of conniving beneath all the cuteness she plays up, though saying she isn't impetuous is also a mistake. Hyena loves risk and will almost always take the precarious route unless someone acts as her safety net.

♥ Bio: A somewhat-enigmatic figure on the tagging scene and highly infamous for her tendency to "guild-hop". There have been Hyena spottings amidst all of the slum's big three, playing along, before vanishing from their ranks weeks later. Her involvements were always short-lived, though many professed she'd came back around to Dichotomy on multiple occasions. At the moment, however, she seems to have gone lone wolf, likely for her own safety; whether the gang leaders hate her is of their own accord, but many of their subordinates openly loathe Hyena, seeing her disloyalty as offensive and downright destructive to the way of life they defend. Hyena is a tagger on the run from her own peers, though if the magnitude of the matter has any impact on her, she hardly seems to bear it. In fact, her explosive images draped all over lower Confiance are all tagged with her full signature, as if to say, "Let them come!" Her audaciousness could very well be her downfall. Nonetheless, someone amidst the Ratpack must have though fondly of the little firecracker who, after receiving the inscrutable, ebony-black message knew immediately what her next plan of action was. Her infamy must have been undermined by something else for it, through some web of connections throughout the city, to land in her hands. That or she dealt for it.

How Hyena even appeared in the slums is debated. Some stories cast her in a nasty light, though drug use is a greatly common trend. Another is the idea that she originated from upper, aristocratic Confiance, and Hyena herself carries an air of newness to her that strongly supports the theory. The details of her transition from there to the slums are, however, indistinct. The most widely-accepted story among taggers is summarized as follows: Minette Quinn and a couple of cohorts—likely friends or family members—were apprehended for possessing cannibis and were forced to flee detainment by evacuating to the slums. Hyena doesn't appear to have any relatives accompanying her so it is assumed she was the only one to ultimately resist arrest. If the story is majorly true, Hyena has been living in the slums for nearly a year. She likely brought prior art experience with her; whether she pursued it as a career option or simple hobby in upper Confiance is unknown but very probable. Even still, her style is a lot less complex than many more senior taggers, though it is still distinct in its own respects.

♥ Art Style:

Hyena's art is bright and broad, murals spanning entire walls. She turns every gang territory into her canvas with her gamboling, psychedelic designs. Her style is greatly cartoonish. Occasionally the characters she depicts are more distorted and abstract in shape, but are always identifiable nonetheless, usually resembling an animal and always having some form of eyes, mouth and nose. Hyena has been known to tag more political works as well, depicting politicians and pop personalities in contorted, exaggerated forms, but never seemingly to make a statement, only to mock and deride. Her work takes relatable subjects and turns them into darkly-attractive characters, more sweetness than substance.

♥ Extra: She has a penchant for hip-hop and club music, usually "classics". As she says, "Music has the future has gotten even worse!" A decent dancer who is determined to master break-dancing; no where near that point. Again, a pretty mediocre actress, though she is a good rapper. Never writers her own lines, however. Abysmal songwriter. She is a naturally fast talker too and tends to have to repeat herself, especially when reminiscing or just being excited. She gets enthusiastic about a lot of little things that likely seem puerile to other people. Likes window-shopping and street food. Simply touring and observing is enough to satisfy her. She tends to let her mind wander and oftentimes forgets people's names or even that they've met at all. Cannot put a face to a name. Quick with everything she does and dislikes having to spend a lot of time on one objective. Blazes... I mean, totally doesn't!

♥ Gear: Built like inline skates with an orange and black color scheme and overall intended for speed. Whenever the gear senses a shift in gravity, it adjusts by folding its wheels inwards and allowing the drive to take over propulsion while still carrying out the movement, allowing the user to make otherwise impossible vertical climbs until their momentum dwindles. The gear relies majorly on the user's control as the drive is relatively weak, being an older model. Other than permitting temporary gravity defiance, it can occasionally manage a boost of acceleration. The gear is so old and, arguably, outdated, it comes without any additional method of control, so the bursts of speed can be sporadic to new users. Hyena herself has gotten a grasp of how to get the extra boost to kick in at just the right times; it's ultimately dependent on applying just the right amount of pressure.
In Spray 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

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