[OOC] 1884: The Gears of a Nation

[Miz en Scène]

[redacted]

 

[Eliminator Jr.]

I'm interested in joining this, most likely as a diplomat but possibly as a scientist. The only thing that had me hesitating for a while is my limited knowledge of the world in 1884. I have little to no understanding of how gun usage works (how to describe reloading etc.) for example - would this be a big issue if I was to join?

Roleplay looks great, by the way :D

 

[Lilliana]

I'm interested in joining this seems really cool :)

 

[Eliminator Jr.]

Name: William Lucian Leary
Nickname: Will
Gender: Male
Age: 22 (born 13.12.1861)

Soldier Class: Scientist
Clothes: An outfit similar to this, however without the goggles and with a grey/black sort of colour scheme instead of white/cream.

Appearance: Will stands at six feet tall and is built strongly. Usually these features would make one appear intimidating, however the young adult is regularly covered in clothing (which creates the illusion of him appearing skinny or slim) due to England's cooler temperatures - this, coupled with his shy nature, makes him seem anything but frightening. When exercising, or overseas in a particularly hot place, he'll usually wear shorts and a singlet or button-up shirt (depending on the situation). He is of English descent and was raised in England, so like most of the public he has pale-ish skin. He has dark brown hair, cut short and not pomaded back, and sideburns of about a week's growth. He has blue eyes. If confident with his surroundings (for example, around friends or talking to younger children/adolescents) or talking to authority, his voice has a pleasant and strong tone, however around strangers his voice is barely audible.

Personality: A rather shy character, he rarely speaks unless spoken to. A true disciple of the saying "you cannot say a bad thing if you say nothing at all", most of what comes out of his mouth is important, and people respect him for it. He thinks rationally rather than emotionally, finding logic a more than suitable method of listening. This is not to say he is cold-hearted - if he is around the right people he will speak his mind and people enjoy his company, but unless he is around those he truly trusts he is careful about what he says. In a way, this is also a disadvantage, as to new people he sometimes comes across as an extremely introverted loner, and a number of times he has chosen not to say something that very well could have benefited him.

He is observant - one of the many skills which made him a born detective. As far as the royal family and the Queen go, Will is a supporter of the monarchy, but only because he doesn't bother to question it. He isn't concerned by having a monarch, he just accepts it. It was mainly his proudest achievement (see History) that brought him to the attention of the British Library, not his over-the-top support of the Crown. He is not normally a violent person, and the only real fights he has been in involved his cousins as they grew up together. Although he could hold his own in most fights (due to both the British Library training and his regular exercise), he is more suited to finding ways around fighting, or not sparking a fight in the first place.

History: Being born into a family lineage with a long history of being bankers, Will was, to say the least, pretty well off when it came to his background. His parents solved all their problems with money. For a while, this was the way he thought too. At one point in time, when he was eleven and old enough to understand the basics about banking, he realised it wasn't an occupation he wished to spend his life in. For a few years his father refused to accept that his son would not continue on the family legacy, but as Will began picking science-orientated subjects at school instead of economics-orientated ones he gave up hope and accepted that his son would not be a banker. This created some distance between the two - although they were still very close, their views on life began to differ more and more.

Because Will had gone into a different field, he had to adapt and learn that money wasn't everything. This led to him refusing certain luxuries until he could pay for them himself (for example, a maid). Of course, he took advantage of his family's wealth in attending one of the most prestigious and expensive universities in the British Empire, Oxford, but beyond accommodation and education costs, Will tried not to rely on his parents. After completing an undergraduate science degree, he took an internship at a detective agency and used the money to pay for a mortgage on his own house. His keen eye and quick thinking skills proved helpful as he gained recognition of his natural talent in the profession. His most infamous case was for the English police, in which he put together enough evidence to convict a thirty-something year old man of treason. This case was probably what landed him the position at the British Library.

Anything Else: Before joining the British Library, he was an avid cricket player (he was the opening batsman for the Oxford University Cricket Team) and was at one point under consideration to join the national English team. As most educated people are, he can speak Latin.

Inventory: Small Swiss army knife-like tool that serves as a miniature magnifying glass, compass and knife. Also a pocket watch with a photo of his parents.

Achievements: N/A

Writing Sample:

Spoiler:

"You will not have a special name," Tyron instructed, his voice deep from lack of use. The eyes of the Cyndaquil remained focused and attentive. "I will refer to you as Cyndaquil, and in time Quilava and Typhlosion. Respond to that name."

After receiving his Pokémon at the laboratory, Tyron had made his way directly to Route 1. The route seemed empty of other trainers, and he had five empty Poké Balls on him. It seemed that nothing could go wrong. Pulling the occupied Poké Ball out of his pocket, he had pressed the center button, unaware of what to expect. Although he had spent many days watching other trainers battle at the Dojo, he had never used a Poké Ball before, much less owned a Pokémon. The ball forced his powerful grip open and dropped to the ground, a fluid red light bursting from within it. The red light formed the shape of a rodent and then changed colour until standing in front of the new trainer was a blue and yellow Pokémon. With a cry, flames had erupted from the back of the creature. Tyron was at first impressed, but when he saw the Cyndaquil simply staring at him he began forming plans in his mind. He would have to teach his new Pokémon to check its surroundings as soon as it was released, to search for escape routes, and most importantly check for hostile Pokémon. In time it would become second nature to the fire-type.

Looking ahead, he could see no wild Pokémon. He began to walk along the path, not turning his head to see whether his Pokémon was following. There was little wind and the forest path was close to silent, so when he heard the footsteps of his Cyndaquil behind him he knew that the Pokémon accepted him as its master. It wasn't too long before in the distance Tyron could hear something. He stopped and listened. The crunch of twigs under his feet would only make it harder to hear. A Pokémon?

It was with a disappointed sigh that he greeted the realisation that travelling ahead of him was a young girl, loudly complaining. Tyron disliked loud children. Pinpointing the child's location, he began to walk on the opposite side of the pathway, hoping to overtake her and ultimately avoid a confrontation.

 

[The warden]

Great RP idea, can I reserve a spot please.

 

[The warden]

Well, I did rather like the idea of being the scientist but as that is gone already, my second choice was the diplomat class.

 

[The warden]

[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]The Character

Name: James Jones Bell[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]
Gender: Male

Age: 23 (26/2/1861)

Solider Class: Diplomat

Clothes: While outside James wears a black woollen frock coat. Peaking over the top of his buttons are a white linen cravat tied into a bow and the wings of his shirt. His black top hat sits proudly on his head as he walks the streets of London in his leather shoes and black woollen trousers. Also, while outside he is never seen without his umbrella that is tucked under his left arm when it is not raining. In a less formal environment James unbuttons or removes his frock coat, revealing his white shirt, with a grey waistcoat over the top. The gold of chain a pocket watch hangs between the left breast pocket of the waistcoat and the top button hole on the left side, the watch is self hidden safely away in his pocket.

Appearance: James stands at 5 feet 8 inches tall and is of a slender build. His hair is dark brown and wavy he has hazel eyes. Under his slender nose lies his walrus moustache which joins his sideburns when it reaches his cheeks. James' skin is pale because of his English ancestry but when it is cold his cheeks go bright red which is likely why he has sideburns.

Personality: Confident is a word that anyone who knows James would associate with as in public he always appears perfectly relaxed even when under intense pressure. Deep down he may be almost at breaking point but while in the court room or amongst his peers he will never show it. His steely exterior has a tendency to intimidate whoever he is questioning but he is much more civil outside the court room(and to whomever is presiding the case) talking very politely and elegantly.
[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]James see his job as a service to the Empire and is not above lying in court or resorting to other underhand tactics when he is certain that the defendant is guilty and is going to get away with his crimes. Loyalty to the Great British Empire is something that was instilled in James by his farther who used to tell tales of James' great grand farther fighting for king/queen and country. [/FONT]

[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]James has seen men and women sentenced to death he simply accepts that it is for the good Empire while he supports capital punishment he detests violence. When faced with a situation where violence seems to be the only option James will firstly try to talk his way out of things only when that fails will he fight.

History: Born the 26th of February 1861 in Sheffield, James Jones Bell is the son of steel factory owner Mr. Peter Bell and his Mrs. wife Mary Bell (formerly Jones). As the third of the couples four children, two older brothers and a younger sister, he found that he was always competing for the attention of his mother and father especially as both of them had busy daily lives and left the nanny to look after their children. To gain attention of his parents James studied hard at school and tried to impress them where ever possible. After finish school, James moved form Sheffield to London where he studied law and upon completing his studies found a job at a small law firm. Whilst at the law firm he was assigned jobs for both the defence and the prosecution. After several years acting as a lawyer to any who could afford his services he began to find out about the British Library and that it was recruiting people with skills like his out of a deep sense of patriotism he decided to apply to join.[/FONT]

[FONT=Times New Roman, serif] Anything Else: James very much enjoys red wine and the odd scotch but rarely drinks anything else and thinks that American whiskey tastes foul. His favorite composer is Sir Edward William Elgar.

Inventory: None.

Achievements: None.

Writing Sample: [/FONT]

Spoiler:

Sue and Paul crouched down behind a wall, about four feet high, as the PXS rounded the corner. Sue took her three Pokeballs from here belt and released the Pokemon inside them, her Pokemon appeared, she held a single finger to he lips warning them to be quiet. Footsteps bit in to the soft snow as the PXS approached their hiding place. If they stayed still the PXS could pass them by but they were coming towards their hiding place and their chance to run was slowly fading.

"I think I saw something!" Said a man who was standing quite near to them, Paul could here his foot steps on the snow moving towards them, why hadn't he gone down the tunnel with the others.

Spoiler:

"When I start shooting run." Sue whispered to Paul and before he could protest she stood up and shot the man near them. Blood rained down on Paul as he started to get up and run towards a nearby door. He opened it and dived inside out of the hail of bullets that erupted from the PXS in response to their dead team mate. Behind the wall Sue was now stuck and Paul was helpless to do anything to help her. Zeal her Sneasel jumped out from behind the wall and dived at the nearest gun man, stabbing him in the chest with both claws, bullets flew at the Sneasel, from the other PXS but it used the dying man as a shield. Sue's Jynx blasted ice at the PXS giving Sue a chance to dash for the door that Paul had just vanished into, she was followed by her Castform and Zeal.


"Return!" Sue shouted, her Jynx disappeared in a red glow safely out of the way of another volley of bullets and with a two legged kick she closed the door. As quickly as she could Sue pushed her self to her feet and bolted the door shut.


"You just killed someone." Paul whispered as he sat on the bottom step of a staircase, Sue shuffled nearer so she could crouched next to him.


"Yes I did and unless you want to end up meeting him I suggest you get up." Sue said to Paul rather callously. He looked up just in time to see a look of guilt on her face, it lasted only a moment. Then a hammering sound hit the door as the PXS tried to get in, Zeal stood alert ready to attack any man that crossed the threshold. Instinctively Sue turned and shot four bullets at the door, it being only made of wood they easily smashed through it and hit the PXS member on the other side. The sound of shattering glass came from a room to the left of Paul.


"Quick, upstairs, they must be trying to get through the window." Ordered Sue, turning as quickly as he could Paul half ran, half crawled up stairs.


At the top of the stairs was a small landing that made a place where Sue and Paul could hide. Above their heads was a hatch that lead into the attic of the house, Zeal jumped far higher than Paul expected for a Pokemon that was only four feet tall and stuck his left claw into the wooden frame round the hatch. A quick punch from his right claw smashed the hatch open so he could climb inside.. Everything inside the house was oddly quiet apart from the pounding on the door and the sound of glass breaking under foot, next to Paul, Sue was reloading her hand gun. Then the PXS broke in five men immediately started running up stairs while the rest fanned out down stairs, Zeal was the first to react, hanging upside down out of the hatch he shot a shard of ice at the first man, impaling him in the stomach. Sue was next to move she peered round the corner firing right down the middle of the stairwell with her right hand and grabbing the dead mans machine gun with her left.

 

[Eliminator Jr.]

Okay, all done. My apologies for taking so long, I hate writing character profiles so they usually take aaaages. By any means don't lower your standards because there hasn't been much interest in the RP yet, if something in my sign-up isn't up to par then let me know and I'll do my best to fix it.

About that, I've put a link to the RP in my signature to help you promote it, is that okay?

EDIT: For some reason my signature doesn't show after any of my posts.. the RP link has been included nonetheless.

 

[ToWriteLove]

The Character
Name: Vincent Amadeus Burle

Nickname: Vince

Gender: Male

Age: 24

Soldier Class: Diplomat

Clothes: A frilled white shirt with a long, slick, black peacoat trimmed in a light brown with the color always popped up. Wears black pants with the bottom of the pant legs folded up and dark boots. Likes to carry a cane around with him even though he doesn't need it, yet.

Appearance: Vincent stands at approximately 5ft 11' with an average build, though appears frail. He carries himself in a sophisticated manner, obviously raised well. He has slick backed dark auburn hair of slightly above average length. His eyes are bright hazel, from his mothers Italian bloodline and pale, white skin from his fathers English high blood. He always dresses nice and cleanly.

Personality: Vincent is a very suave person. He is calm and never worries about the big things, but the small things pull at his wits ends. Examples of big things would be things like talking in front of a large group of important people, being in the middle of battles, and coming up with last minute solutions. For small things, things like unevenness, something not where it is supposed to be, dirtiness, and not being able to think of the word he wants to use. He likes to be in control, having others do things his way and is aggravated when is option is taken most of the time unless a good reason is given for the action.
He hides his emotions well, as is what is required with a diplomat-like figure, but it is sometimes not a good thing, for he will lock up the anger, pain, and sadness of events recently past. Although he talks of his father, not with passion or love, but of his position and what he symbolizes, but he talks of his mother little, if to some at all. He is strong willed and confident in his ability to support his comrades, and any mistakes he makes he learns from, which make him stronger.
Vincent, when you first meet him, seems like the ideal patriot of the Empire, but once you get to know him, you find out he makes fun of every decision the Empire makes, though he sugarcoats it to where many do not notice it. He supports them yet questions every move they make, as if he does not trust them completely. This will become noticeable later on to where the group will become to question him, and find out the truth.

History: Vincent was born in England to a Sir Daniel Burle of England, a high ranking English diplomat of the Queens own choice group (being a close friend) and to a Madeline Esposito, a poor Italian woman that had worked at a small library, who his father met while visiting Italy. At an early age, Vincent's father had started to teach him the proper forms of being a diplomat, while his mother would secretly teach him history and different forms of poetry, showing him books from all over the world which made him grow to love finding and reading books of his own as well as writing his own works. Vincent was able to depict that his father had not accepted his mother as a wife, and just felt obligated to take care of his mother, but accepted Vincent as a son. Vincent accepted this sort of lifestyle at first, father living with people to serve him in any room, while his mother was treated as one of those servants.
After finally graduating and succeeding as a recognized diplomat, Vincent came home from graduation to tell his mother filled with excitement. He burst into his mothers bedroom only to freeze in shock. He sees his mother lying in her bed, surrounded by other servants and his father standing by her side, dead. Vincent stares in shock as his father walks out of the room saying, "Call the mortician, tell him to pick up the servants body." Anger built up in Vincent, bursting out of him, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU! DO YOU NOT CARE?!" His father merely looks at him and says, "What does it matter if a servant dies? They are not important to society."
This response hardens Vincent, realizing that all those who he had looked up to his whole life were like this, like his father. He came to start questioning the ethics he follows, but he remains by them because he cannot find any wrong within them. Even with these questions, he remains loyal to the crown, hoping that not all are corrupt, yet deep in his soul, he feels that he, someone who would never admit out loud, may be wrong.
Shortly after this, Vincent is assigned his first diplomatic assignments, separating himself from the home he has always known. He decides in his free time to travel to places that his mother always spoke of, visiting Germany, France, Ireland, Spain, all while also learning information of the hierarchy in rule of each land. There is one place that Vincent stays away from, never taking assignments assigned to this country, that country being Italy, the homeland of his mother.
After many achievements with diplomacy relations between famous nobles, Vincent receives an invitation from an organization only known as BL. Curious as to what exactly this organization is, Vincent accepts the offer, hoping to find the answers he seeks.

Anything Else: Vincent enjoys writing poetry, and seems to try and come up with something that relates to everything. He enjoys the arts even though he has no talent in them. Enjoys wandering off at night to walk the streets. Also enjoys reading, having a different book every time the group goes on a mission.

Inventory: He carries a journal that keeps all information about clients/targets, a locket with a picture of his mother, and his cane with silver trim.

Achievements: Became a diplomat for the Empire at the early age of 17. Successfully achieved treaties between three local kingdoms and dozens of local nobles.

Writing Sample:
Poetry Showing Some Creativity: https://www.pokecommunity.com/showthread.php?t=242241


_____________________________________________________________________
This is just the persona I had made before realizing there was already a diplomat. XD I will attempt making an engineer persona and just posting this to show that I am interested.

 

[Cirrus]

Posting interest. It seems interesting and fairly well-researched. This is going to lead to me perusing a rather large pile of background material again, though, I'm sure...

 

[Cirrus]

Just history left, I s'pose.

Name: Felix Hammond

Gender: Neuter Er, Male.

Age: 21

Soldier Class: Commando.

Clothes: Felix chooses to don an immaculate white swallow-tail coat in most situations, its medium-long length covering the majority of his upper body. Behind it, he wears a woolen waistcoat with an unassuming appearance the same shade of pristine colourlessness, with brass buttons that gleam in the light; this is accompanied by a somber stiff-collared cotton shirt, which stands in stark contrast to his overcoat and waistcoat. A few links of gold chain dangle out of his breast pocket, evidence of a time-keeping device being kept there. Appending the tailcoat is a pair of comfortable American trousers, which possesses belt loops as opposed to suspenders, and a leather belt with a rectangular buckle holds the garment in place. At his throat is a white, silken bow tie, and a pair of grey, nondescript leather shoes completes the ensemble. Felix is extremely particular about his appearance, being somewhat vain in nature (though of course this is usually not actively displayed), and dislikes having to soil his clothes, typically preferring most alternatives. His suit's material changes with the conditions of the weather outside, as he has had several nearly identical garments made in order to suit most foreseeable weather and temperature conditions.

Appearance: Glossy chestnut hair, quite smooth in texture, flows in a moderately straight manner down to the top of his neck. Long strands of it dangle in front of his face, sometimes obstructing his vision, even if only momentarily. His eyes are a shimmering, watery emerald, a marginally condescending atmosphere of analysis and indifference spilling out of them. A half-smile lingers on his lips, a light pink in color, as if hinting at some matter of amusement hidden to the casual observer. His skin is a very light olive, and exhibits a faint glow to it. His fingers are of a medium length and temperament, and their nails are well-manicured and meticulously cared for. Felix possesses a rather medium stature, standing at about two inches below six feet. His form is not particularly lanky or buff, though of course it is on the thin side of things, relatively speaking.

Personality: Intensely idealistic, Felix is somewhat traditional in temperament and nature. His focus on the maintenance of an aura of cordiality and courtesy is notable, applying to both members of the Empire and persons outside it. Being a curious and open-minded person, Felix is quite interested in the exploration of many aspects of foreign cultures, as well as the exchange of facets of society between external countries and the Empire itself - this particular notion seems to have always been present in his mind, and he is mildly surprised (though in a good way) to find that the British Library's interests converge with his own, even if their means may be a little dubious at times.

Often cheerful and rather optimistic - though with a hint of wistfulness - despite possible circumstances that might crushingly suggest the opposite, he prefers law instead of chaos; his first instinct in a conflict is to order his charges and / or comrades-in-arms to form up so that an adequate counter-measure may be formulated. He is not easily taunted, being of a composed and judicious persuasion, and he does not hesitate to take whatever advantage is available during an engagement (though typically this is not so outside of such a situation). He has tendencies to be distracted by seemingly the most random of things, however, and this slightly hampers his prowess and general processing ability.

History: Felix originates from a wealthy middle-class mercantile family that is attempting to rise into the gentry. His mother is the daughter of a viscount, and thus of the peerage.

Anything Else: Felix is fairly capable in several areas, though he is not virtuosically skilled in any one of them save for a single extent. he has a great passion for music, and retains some modest ability with the violin and piano. He is not a terrible cook, and his culinary creations are borderline passable in the area of edibility at their absolute worst. Furthermore, he is able to mend rudimentary damage to clothing with a needle and thread, though he is utterly helpless if presented with the prospect of any serious topic of tailoring work (e.g. the process of actually fabricating garments - no, not even simple accessories such as scarves and gloves, or mending heavy damage). The last and the most honed of his set of aptitudes, his foilwork (and his marksmanship to a lesser extent) is, if not to the degree of exceedingly excellent, at least relatively competent and thus passable when needed in a militant circumstance.

Inventory: [No weaponry to begin with. Just random stuff (be creative) that you might find useful. Memorabilia and jewellery also accepted if you want.]

Achievements: [List any medals.]

Writing Sample:

Spoiler:

Amelia awoke to a world of lush greenery. The grass glowed a healthy shade of emerald everywhere she looked, and the nearby lakes sparkled with a shining, pure brilliance. She smiled slightly, a serene expression that she was used to. It was a beautiful place, and though it was not the same sort of beauty as the kind that her well-cared-for gardens possessed, it was nonetheless wonderful, inspiring and stunning to gaze upon. A slight electronic 'blip' sounded, and she looked for its source, her eyes settling on the new-found gadget at her wrist. It looked like a watch...

A message was on its face.

It ... it has begun. A tinge of sadness crept into her smile. I wanted to ... perhaps ... enjoy the scenery a little more, but ...

"Mm." She read through the message. A Persian's theft of various eggs was the problem that needed solving, or so it appeared. She reached down to one of her pockets, extricating a white spherical device with a red band through its middle, and a button situated on that band.

"Lanculus ... Come forth!"

A stream of red energy spewed into the air from the Premier Ball that Amelia held in her hands, gradually coalescing into the light-green gelled form of a Rankurusu.

I am here to serve, milady. The cool voice of Lanculus resounded inside Amelia's mind with a familiar clarity and crispness. Is there anything ... Its telepathic voice trailed off as it began to glow with a faint rosy aura for a few seconds. A Persian.

"... Yes ... Lanculus. I ... had Metagross in mind; do you have any other suggestions ... " Amelia let her voice fall a little, then rise again, clearly indicating that it was a question she was asking. "?"

No, milady. That is likely the most capable choice we have within our pool of knowledge and resources. The Lanculus nodded, ever so slightly, tilting its head a little. Metagross is extremely tough in nature, and quite capable in offense as well. Amelia considered the telepathic communique for a second, then inclined her head in agreement. Reaching down to her pocket to pick out another Premier Ball from the folds of her pocket, she clicked the button in the centre of the sphere delicately, allowing a ray of crimson light to amalgamate into a tremendous, steel-covered four-armed tank.

"Metagross. I ... require you to seek out a... certain Persian for me, today." She paused carefully with each syllable that rolled off her tongue, and gazed placidly at the metallic form, her tone at once both gentle and commanding. "Will you ... lend me your aid?" In response to this statement, the many-appendaged Pokemon began to float a little off the ground, its eyes shining with a faint pinkish haze.

Metagross is scanning. Amelia thought, blinking to clear a stray strand of hair out of her eye. Its capacity ... is that of a supercomputer, and much more reliable ... in terms of constancy of performance. She waited patiently for several minutes, lightly resting her slender fingers on the cool metal of the Iron Leg Pokemon's body. After a while, Metagross's internal hum began to quiet down, and it pointed one of its four limbs in a northwestern direction.

She smiled lightly at this. The Persian's location was likely indeed situated somewhere in the distance to that direction, if Metagross had found it. It had never failed her before, and she saw no reason for it to fail now; she dusted the fabric of her dress off a little, drinking in the enchanting landscape around her once again, and set off, her shoes softly crunching into the soft grass below.

In a nearby patch of thick grass, not some thousand metres or so away, the aforementioned Persian lurked silently, petting the eight eggs that were part of its hoard. It purred, audibly satisfied with its hiding place, and its claws glinted in the sunlight, almost taking on a metallic timbre. Something was about to confront it and challenge it to its territory and hoardings, that much it knew, and it began to formulate a counter-offensive ambush plan.

Ten minutes passed by uneventfully, the ambient grassland sounds of rustles in the grass and the occasional bird Pokemon call undisrupted as hunter and hunted chased after one another. However, the identity of each was quite debatable.

Another ten minutes passed by. Then twenty did, as well.

Just as Amelia was about to query Metagross on the subject, a fierce, triumphant yowl, distinctly feline, was heard behind her. She blinked, confused, but Metagross was already moving, its metallic bulk moving with surprising swiftness, allowing the Persian's attack to rebound off its armor and protecting its charge. Its eyes radiated a cold resolve and a quiet anger, steadfast in its purpose, at the Persian, whose expression was a gleeful and sadistic one.

Miss Serena! Be careful. Following a faint hum from Metagross, these thoughts were delivered into Amelia's mind even as their bearer steeled itself for battle. A rain of quick jabs with its frontal limbs at the Persian was avoided by the Persian, who leaped an alarming distance into the air and brought down a paw with wickedly sharp nails in a scything motion. Night Slash? Amelia wondered.

"... Meteor Mash." She waved a delicate hand before her, a commanding tone in her voice. "I ... will be depending on you, Metagross."

(ooc: there is foreshadowing here. it's painfully obvious if you read the posts together.)

Of course, milady. The Metagross's right hand began to glow, and soon a shining corona of brilliance surrounded it. The Persian, sensing that something was out of the ordinary, purred in a manner that seemed to denote slight arrogance and settled into a crouch, ready to leap again. It was met with surprise when the punch that was aimed by Metagross hit the air almost directly above it instead, and suddenly a storm of meteoric particles crashed down upon the Persian, scoring bruises and scratches of various shapes and sizes. Metagross gave off a faint aura of crimson as it executed the attack, its fury rising to ever greater heights immediately after the punch's landing.

The Persian, however, was far from being outwitted. With a guttural snarl, it leaped up from the grass, its plethora of wounds seemingly ignored. Its claws glinted in the morning light (or was it afternoon? Amelia wasn't entirely sure) as it struck down at Metagross with a vicious scything motion. The air seemed to turn a little bit colder, and the sun's light dimmed momentarily, as the Persian executed a Night Slash against the Steel/Psychic machine Pokemon. Though Metagross had ample time to process the attack, the movement was so swift that it could not raise a jagged arm to parry the maneuver, and it visibly winced as the sharp implements raked across its outer shell.

Amelia bit down upon a fingernail unconsciously, blinking in surprise. "...!" Hurriedly, she waved a hand forward, directing Metagross's next attack. "...Hammer Arm, Metagross!" As soon as she gave that command, she frowned, her graceful features forming an expression of intense concentration. I'm ... not sure if that was the best idea, after all.

In reply, the metallic supercomputer obediently raised an arm, which began to glow with a deep burgundy, and levitated into the air, bringing the fist into the Persian's flank with crippling force. The Persian howled in insufferable pain, and slashed at Metagross again with the same motion it had employed just a moment before.

Amelia sighed in frustration. The Persian was obviously quite powerful and somewhat devious, to say the least. She did not want such a confrontation to last for any extended period of time, lest she lose the small advantage that she possessed at the moment.

"...Lanculus." Amelia whispered to the Multiplying Pokemon. "...Communicate ... to that Persian that we do not wish it lasting harm. It ... need only return the eggs that it stole, to their original owners."

Rankurusu inclined its head very slightly, and a psychic drone filled the air as a rose-tinted aura surrounded it and the opposing Persian. A few seconds later, the Persian gestured with its head, shaking it back and forth.

"... I see. I ... feel that this is possibly unfair, but I ... I do not have any other plans of action." She let out a small sigh, curtseying a little to the Persian. "I ... apologize in advance for any inconvenience. ... Lanculus! ... Metagross!" She took a deep breath before continuing. "Engage at once ... Block, Metagross. Focus Blast, Lanculus."

A beam of white light shot out of the X-shaped mustache on Metagross's body, flying at the Persian at immense speed. The latter managed to evade the seeking attack for a fraction of a second, but became trapped shortly thereafter. The former, having trapped it, was also suspended in a state of stasis; however, this did not impede the Rankurusu in any way, shape or form, and a blue sphere of power appeared between the Multiplying Pokemon's gelled limbs. After only a moment's hesitation (or concentration, maybe), Rankurusu seemed to will the orb to soar at the cat-like Pokemon, and it made impact with a sickening crunch. Freed from the Block but now with a limp in its movement, the Persian growled in anger.

Amelia's expression grew wistful. "...Lanculus. Recommunicate, if you would... Our intentions. "

Rankurusu forged a psychic link between it and the Persian a second time. This time, after the communications were finished (though it took quite a bit longer than it did last time), it seemed ready to agree to the terms, swaying its head down curtly and stalking into the grass, the combat finished. A smile, coloured with sadness, returned to Amelia's countenance, and she waved slightly at the receding figure of the Persian.

"...Lanculus." She examined the Multiplying Pokemon's demeanor carefully, as if preparing to create a portrait, but Rankurusu knew it was her way of expressing that she was ... struggling not to express something. "Why ... must there be injustice in the world?"

If I knew the answer to that question, milady... Would injustice not have been eradicated a long time ago? The Rankurusu smiled a little as well at this question, its mien suffused with a suggestion of bitterness.

"...Mm." Amelia rapidly blinked. "They ... are not truly evil, you know. ... Or, that is ... " Her blinking began to increase in frequency even more, and she choked back a sound that she would have reflexively made. A whimper? The Rankurusu could not be sure.

"That is what I believe, Lanculus."

Even so, milady. I hope that you can continue to hold on to your beliefs, and be true to your own thoughts. ...

"... I can never ... thank you enough, can I ..." A shadow of amusement crept back into Amelia's voice, and Rankurusu exhaled in relief.

... We live to serve.

The rest of the day passed fairly uneventfully, as Amelia spent most of the afternoon planting and tending to the few berries that she was able to bring along on the trip. "We ... should have excellent harvests, " she assured her Pokemon after calling on Doredia to perform a Sunny Day to aid the plants. Her smile did not fade from her face for an instant, but the Rankurusu knew that it was always an uphill battle, the one she fought with her own emotions and thoughts.

We help in whichever ways we are able to, it reassured itself, nodding in agreement to its own statement.

The Pokemon made camp at a lakeside, Rankurusu and Metagross setting up a temporary living space, lifting rocks and polishing them with their psychic abilities (and in Metagross's case, its sharp claws as well), and Chirachiino was able to scavenge a variety of sweetgrasses to layer the ground of the shelter with. It was not amazing in terms of architectural soundness, and the roof was composed of the space blanket that Amelia had brought along with her, but it was a fine place to live in, at least during the first few days.

Food was not difficult to come by. Archeos, alarmingly swift and able to run at the speed of a racecar, harvested a variety of fruits from a forest location it reported to be "some amount of distance away" to Rankurusu, though obviously the exact distance was unknown, as Archeos needed time to gather the fruits as well. Chirachiino, ever the resourceful scavenger, was able to find a few berry bushes containing Bluk Berries, Nanab Berries, and Watmel Berries, which were excellent additions to the findings that Archeos was able to make. The dinner was not sumptious by any measure of the word, but everyone who partook of it was able to fill him or herself.

 

[The warden]

Mr. Bell if you would please. (I found the surname convention when looking for ideas for a name didn't think to check that it was in the right decade of the Victorian era though. *face-plam* I'll stick with it now rather than change it) I have filled in the absent sections of my resume and I believe that everything is in order but do let me know if anything is not. (Any problems with any section of my SU just let me know, I'll sort it out asap)

 

[Crash Into Me]

I'm quite intrigued, though a tad bit late. If possible, I'd love to reserve that second diplomat slot.

 

[Crash Into Me]

I was somewhat apprehensive of creating a female character for this, seeing as the time period wasn't prime time for women to be in power... But I figure, with the rest of the cast being men, I might as well give it a whirl. Let me know if anything at all needs adjusted in any way.

The Character

[FONT=&quot]Name:[FONT=&quot] Florence Cora Collins

Nickname: Flora, Flo

Gender: Female

Age: Twenty-one (04/14/1863)

Soldier Class: Diplomat

Clothes: Florence dresses in mostly brown or golden tones. Generally, she can be found donning a cream undershirt between her body and a dark brown corset, layering on top of that a sleeveless, dark gold riding jacket that clasps at the breasts and wraps around to curl around her neck and extend into two tails below her waist. At her waist begins a full-length dark brown skirt to match the corset that keeps close to her legs and shows off her figure until her knees, at which the skirt forms fluid, flaring, and lacy ruffles. Heeled, brown, laced walking boots with pointed toes peek out from under the bottommost ruffles. To top everything off, Florence wears a brown topper towards the front of her head, brown fingerless gloves that seem to be of the same make as the skirt, and round glasses with tinted gold lenses – they're prescription, but she'll never admit it. For cold and blustery days, Florence has a gold bomber jacket lined with fur to keep her snug and warm.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

Appearance: At 5'5" and of a curvy physique, Florence is never one to seem demanding or imposing – and yet, she always seems to get what she wants when it comes to men. She constantly draws herself up to as tall as she can muster, holding her shoulders back and displaying her confidence like a banner. Her dark blonde hair is almost always pulled into a twist at the crown of her head, save the bangs curled on her forehead. True to her descent, her skin is pale and her deep set eyes are blue, though the latter tends to lean more towards gray (well, grey, I suppose.) Her heart shaped faced is always covered in makeup, though one wouldn't know it from looking – after all, she wouldn't want to be mistaken for a prostitute. It's rare to see a hair out of place on this polished, attractive woman – though that's not to say that she's uptight in any way.

Personality: True to the manner of the era, Florence has a constant polite and kind demeanor to the face of the public, careful not to overstep her boundaries – much. In spite of this, she carries a sense of pride, of arrogance, that is laced within her poise and her hidden insults. Still, the woman is nothing if not confident in her abilities, and very socially adept. It's a rare thing for her to not get what she wants, which tends to make her self-centered and spoiled, rarely looking beyond her own interests – but the interests of those she associates with, of those who can help her also become her interests, so it's not a lost cause to have her on the team. Furthermore, Florence is quite the persistent, hard worker, determined to get what she wants. This, coupled with her above-average intelligence, makes her a formidable force, namely for persuasion.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Florence can also be considered a bit "loose," though this promiscuity is considered as one of the tools of her trade. It's also a form of protection: As it turns out, Florence is very guarded and cold-hearted. She fears intimacy, due to a situation with a former employer that she refuses to acknowledge, and the willingness to have detached physical relations with her business partners to get what she wants helps her to get ahead as well as remove her emotions from the equation. Florence doesn't like the idea of married life anyway, seeing as women are expected to sit at home and work the house, and her father had raised her to see the world and explore all options. She is bold, daring, and adventurous, usually the one to take the first step towards an uncertain situation.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]"Good" and "evil" are not clear, concise things in Florence's mind. If she had to categorize it, the "good" would be her objective, and the "evil" would be anything that got in the way. It's not that she doesn't have morals, but they change to adhere to the situation at hand. It's for this reason that Florence has contempt for the Queen, since she is an obstacle. Secretly, she desires the throne for herself, and believes she has the skills to get herself there – she just needs her foot in the door, and the British Library may be just enough. For now, she will serve the Queen and do her duty, but if an opportunity rises, Florence will take it without question. After all, once she becomes queen, she can prove the abilities of women so no one else will have to hide their passion like she did. It's that easy... right? [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
History: Born and raised in Birmingham to lawyer John Alan Collins and seamstress Ruth Ellen Collins (formerly Murphy), Florence was no stranger to the city. The young girl had a knack of absorbing everything around her, and she had no problems picking up her mother's way with needlework as well as the smooth-talking tendencies her father cherished. Upon discovering her potential, John began to tutor his daughter in languages and customs of the world. Often, this caused fights between John and Ruth – after all, there was no room for women in politics, and it would be much more beneficial for Florence to focus on following in her mother's footsteps; yet, she loved learning of the other parts of the world, and there was little use in wasting such talent. And so the majority of Florence's childhood followed this trend: She practiced needlework by day for her future career and studied the way of a diplomat in secret.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]At the ripe age of fourteen, Florence was employed as a seamstress close to home, but the business quickly packed up and moved to London, prompting her to do the same if she wished to keep her job. Her earnings weren't much, but they were enough, seeing as her employer provided shelter and most meals. Said employer tended to keep a close eye on Florence, especially as she grew older and into her natural beauty. It's said that he fancied her, and the two nearly married – but this is something Florence neither confirms nor denies. Nevertheless, it was at this job that Florence's true lingual and persuasive talents shined, and she often took it upon herself to associate with the foreign travelers, speaking in their native tongue and always making a sale. During one of these transactions, the British Library noticed Florence – and when she was offered a position of power, a position much better than that of a seamstress, a position to help her worm her way to the top... how could she say no?

Anything Else: As stated above, Florence has mild myopia that she refuses to speak of. She loves Shakespeare's writing, usually having more of an affinity for the tragedies; though, she also has a soft spot for his rival, Christopher Marlowe. Florence also enjoys the work of Chopin.

Inventory: In a small satchel, Florence stores a small, overly read book of Shakespearean poetry, a journal, and, in a small pocket usually overlooked, what looks to be an engagement ring. She continuously wears a gold necklace with a mechanical heart for a charm, and most claim that it's the closest thing to a heart she has.

Achievements: Nothing major – though she did win a local competition for a public recital of poetry.

Writing Sample:[/FONT]

Spoiler:

"Tauni?" That had to be her. Jamal hadn't seen her since that incident at the Vindico hideout. So, she made it out alive! Good. Seeing as Jamal showed his change in careers there, he knew Tauni would bail on him. After all, the whole reason she stuck around was that they were thieving equals after the same thrill. Still, she had to carry enough respect for him to allow him a goodbye. At her name, the Sableye turned, freezing upon seeing her former owner. She was hoping not to see him again, yet here he was. It was improbable that he had been searching for her, so it was just fate that they met again; a sick twist of fate. She didn't move as he approached and knelt down so they could almost be on the same level.

"I suppose I can't hold you," Jamal told her simply. He knew this day was coming ever since he got that demotion - well, promotion, but not really – and yet, he still didn't feel prepared. No, he didn't have friends, but aside from Jerrick, Tauni had been the closest thing he'd ever had to one. Oh well. The emptiness that he was feeling was a prime example on why friends are bad and why he shouldn't get attached. "Evans made me her bodyguard. If I steal anymore, he'll hunt me down." Tauni merely nodded in understanding. It had been out of his hands, just like this was out of hers. It was inevitable, there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it... Still, he should be warned. In an attempt of this, Tauni placed one claw to her opposite arm, where it was raw, red, and clearly hurt. Jamal got the hint and looked down, his brows furrowing. "What happened? You had to fight your way out?" he asked, but she wasn't listening. It was over. Silently, she turned her back to him and fled off into the shadows - but couldn't stop herself from turning and watching.

Jamal stood as she fled, his face contorting slightly in concern and sadness. He knew this was going to happen, there was no use getting worked up about it. All he could do was move on... But as Jamal started to turn away himself, he felt someone roughly grab him and slam his head against the wall. What the-? What just happened? Spots blurring his vision, Jamal relied on his hearing to tell when his attacker was approaching again, taking a swing and making contact with what he thought was his attacker's face. This didn't stop the man, however: he merely came back and made to hit again, causing Jamal to lash out in one direction, before pulling back and hitting Jamal from the other side. The attacker's fist made contact with Jamal's gut and the thief crumpled, but did not fall. No. He wasn't dying today, he refused. As his vision came back, swimming but clear enough, he recognized the man's face from somewhere. He had to be one of the men from the Vindico, someone who had seen him fight before - or maybe someone who was a victim of his theft. Jamal didn't know, but that wasn't his concern right now; right now, he just needed to survive.

[/FONT]

 

[Crash Into Me]

Awesome! Thank you. It was pretty tough, trying to figure out how to get her noticed. And this opens a whole new window for drama ;D

I'm quite aware, hahaha. The desire to be queen is an overly-ambitious dream. I'm trying to be more of an "anti-hero" in some ways, such as this. And a coup is kind of what I'm working towards. After all, if I can rise through the ranks and get close enough, there's a greater chance of success. But shhh, no one's supposed to know that. Haha

 

[Cirrus]

I apologize for my tardiness; my computer has been terrible to me (erasing an almost-complete sign-up from the post window not once, but twice... I should have learned better and used Google Docs after the first time, but I didn't), and I have been bombarded with music (formal concerts... just finished today) and school work (concluded on Friday... advent of March Break).

My posting frequency will definitely rise.

 

[Cirrus]

I'm not dead; nor is this RP.

 

[Eliminator Jr.]

Not an amazing post but before the deadline :D

 

[Crash Into Me]

Winning! Got a post in by the deadline while on vacation :D Sorry for the delay! Things were a little crazier than anticipated. Also, I will say that it's not my best - I'm a little rushed, haha.

 

[Crash Into Me]

Just wanted to say that I came back from vacation late last night and I'll have a post up today so don't worry about special accommodations for me :) I imagine I'll be in the room with Cecilia, then? And this is a conversation from the other thread, I know, but I didn't want to start a string of OoC posts.