[PKMN FULL] The Lost Islands League 2.0

Name | Rando Panda
Date of Birth | May 22 1999
Gender | Male
Hometown | New Bark Town, Johto
Password | I don't know, I'm lost!

Appearance | Can i use picture?

Personality | (What does your character act like? How do they think? How's their social and personal lives, relationship-wise? Anything else, like sexual orientation or something? Get creative, get detailed(as detailed as you can get, at least)!)

History | (Any and all major and/or important events that have taken place in your character's life thus far. What was their childhood like? Are they an experienced trainer? Have they done anything worth mentioning? So long as they haven't become a Trainer God, it's all good.)
Writing Sample | (Just to see what your style of writing is like. Make it about the day that your character received their invitation to the Lost Tournament.)

Miscellaneous | (Anything that hasn't been covered above that you feel is worth mentioning.)​

Name | Alistair Julius Caineworth Jr.
Date of Birth | January 20th. Thirty two years old.
Gender | Male.
Hometown | Resort Area/Snowpoint City.
Password | Am I Lost or am I found?

Appearance | Tall and lanky, Alistair stands over six feet tall and is so out of proportion that he may as well be a cartoon. His limbs are long and thin with bony joints that seem to be in all the wrong places. Yet he manages to command a surprising degree of grace over his clumsy frame, looking far more dignified than most would in his position. His skin, naturally pale from a family long based in Snowpoint, has been given a little more colour from his frequent trips to the Resort Area and helps to define his angular features. A pair of sharp, silvery eyes peer out from behind the light blonde locks that spill from the top of his head, brushed neat and kept tidy but a little too long to be entirely successful. His jawline is, usually, kept closely shaven.

The styles of a gentleman gone mad, Alistair is no stranger to standing out in the crowd. His attire consists of a three piece suit, although not in the blacks or browns of common businessmen. Oh no. While his dress shirt may be a pristine white and his tie may be scarlet red his blazer, waistcoat and trousers are a striking pastel pink. His shoes and leather belt are a dark black, rather unremarkable in a sense although the outsole of his shoes matches the pink of his suit. His pocket square is a bright red, the same colour as his tie, and the pocket itself usually houses a flower of Alistair's choice.

Personality | Alistair takes after his father. His father, his progenitor and tutor, was an eccentric man with far more money than sense and a taste for the bizarre. Funded by his vast wealth his father's expeditions into the unknown and antics on stage were legendary and always kicked up a storm. Alistair has spared no expense copying the man to the letter in his ambitions and habits. He is a complicated menagerie of spontaneity, ridiculousness, upper class habits and on rare occasions even his intelligence begins to show. Most will learn quickly that the first three are far more prominent features of his. Alistair remains light-hearted and cheerful through the worst of times, never giving away a sign that he might be saddened and always keeping up his almost regal sense of charm. It is this flamboyant, larger than life nature that makes him what he truly is. Alistair is a natural born showman, eager to take on the world and give it its most exciting performance yet with nothing more than a few Pokéballs on his belt and the fire in his stomach.

History | Alistair Julius Caineworth, a name that is always followed by either an irritated groan or a soft chuckle. Only child of the Caineworths an incredibly rich and infamously eccentric family living in Snowpoint city, Alistair was heir to the family fortune. The origins of their fortune spirals back to the thriving sea port that marks Snowpoint but is now fuelled more with the profits from Pokémon contests, investments in the Castelian city stock exchange and payment from the various Sinnoh-based businesses that the Caineworth family have stuck their fingers into. While a lot for one person to manage it ensures a life in the lap of luxury for anyone closely tied to them.

And so while his parents were off at work, Alistair would be at home holding down the fort with a fleet of toys. Despite the legion of carers that looked after him as a child, something which would usually lead to a detachment from one's parents, Alistair still idolised them both. His father specifically, much to his mother's dismay, which led to the nurtured development of his eccentricity. The man was his inspiration; his life. Alistair made every attempt to mimic him. While his mother was indeed a splendid woman she never drew the same level of interest that his father did.

She was a parent. He was a hero.

And that one-sided devotion may have been what drew a wedge between the Caineworth family. Alistair's life is not one filled with tragedy and he would never claim it to be… but the declining relationship of his parents was certainly crippling for him. While they never officially divorced until after Alistair turned twenty they separated shortly after his seventeenth birthday and have barely talked to each other since. It was something that most of the associated of the Caineworth family, and even Alistair to some degree, saw coming. His mother remained in the estate in Snowpoint while his father, once again on the hunt for adventure, moved to the luxurious Resort Area in north-east Sinnoh. Alistair's mother remarried but his father never did, often claiming to be "married to the limelight".

Unlike many, Alistair's experience with Pokémon was not filled with the romantic ideas of battling and training, striving to defeat the Elite Four. One of the few things that his parents shared and what drew them to each other was a love of Pokémon contests and, always the showman, Alistair followed in their footsteps. With a lust for something to keep his mind off of his parents and with a small group of Pokémon compadres, old companions of his parents mostly, he took to the stage like a Psyduck to water. It was not a surprise.

He took on much of the business work from his father when he grew old enough and was out of education, putting the contest work to the side to focus on carrying on the family's various investments. An apprentice for the most part he took on the work whenever his father failed to, whether due to his wild antics or other responsibilities.

When Alistair's father fell ill, too much so to run anything owned by the Caineworths for an extended amount of time, Alistair took his role as head of the industries. Many of the advisors and workers mentioned that it was like there had been no change in leadership at all. He performed quite well, although was still inexperienced and needed time to flourish in the new environment. In time he did, working from his mid-twenties through until his early thirties. His life in the lap of luxury was filled with more responsibility than ever before, but it came with more opportunities and intrigue.

But something was still missing. Isn't it always? That one quality that made his father such a legend in his own eyes. The one thing that Alistair always strove to meet. Adventure. There was none of it in Snowpoint nor the Resort Area. While he longed for it, Alistair felt like he had too much riding on him to suddenly pick up and leave like his father often did. A letter would change all that, addressed to him from his father. It promised adventure, excitement and tickets to a boat ride that was bound to make him feel sick.

But the tickets were for participation in the Lost Islands League, something that had interested him for a long while… it promised a bounty of excitement. A tale of adventure suited only for the grandest romantic tales. Alistair clung to it.

Surely they could cope without him for a month or two.


Writing Sample |

'Mr. Caineworth?'

The young woman held the letter loosely in her hand, flipping it over to see if anything was on the other side. The letter was barren other than the address printed in the top right corner and yet it seemed far more important than it should have been. It was addressed to Mr. Caineworth, that she could be sure of, and usually any messages sent to him that she didn't know of beforehand brought more disaster than Caineworth ever could. This was an oddity. She brushed a lock of raven hair out of her face, scanning over the envelope a second time and then a third.

'Mr. Caineworth?' she called again. The woman peered round through the doorframe, analysing the man she was trying to talk to. A suited figure, garbed in bright colours, was hard at work in an office on the other side of the room, the door left wide open. She could see him mashing keys into a computer like a machine. Or at least a man on fire, desperately hoping that one key would turn on the buildings sprinklers.

Alistair Caineworth glanced up briefly from his work, flashing a smile at his assistant who had scurried towards the doorway, resting against the doorframe as she fixed her composure. If he were truly honest he would have told her that he had noticed her calling the first time. To avoid sounding rude he decided to let it slide, his smile bursting into a grin and his body leaping into action, launching him from his chair into a standing position. He held his arms out wide as if offering the woman a hug but it was never received.

'Miss Annabelle! How may I help you this fine Saturday afternoon?' he exclaimed, his sentence spiralling into a song as it finished.

Her name was actually just Anne. No more and no less. She didn't complain about Caineworth's nicknames and little eccentricities because she knew Alistair meant no ill by it. He also paid her which was a nice reason to put up with someone's antics. Anne held out the letter, holding it between her two fingers. A quick glance at Alistair's computer showed that he was actually playing some old blocky videogame. How productive.

It took her a moment to realise it wasn't even Saturday.

The older man stared at the envelope for a moment, plucking it from his assistant's fingers and reading the address on the front. He flipped it over, digging into the envelope and tearing off the top. His finger and thumb gripped the letter inside which he pulled out just as swiftly as he had opened the envelope. A single slip of paper fell out from the envelope as Alistair pulled out the card, gently gliding to the floor. Alistair didn't pick it up, too intrigued by the postcard. Anne did so for him, more interested in the slip of paper. They each read over what they held, scanning them for information. Alistair held a postcard from one Mr. A. Caineworth Sr. His father.

Alistair received a few letters from the hospital every week or two to let him know of his father's condition but they were always felt forced. It was a topic that Alistair imagined made his father feel worse than any ill could. He expected that he only did it for Alistair's sake, pushed on by his own mothers fear of having her son wracked with worry. The message was brief but to the point, written on the back of a postcard. Alistair recognised the handwriting instantly.

'Go on your own adventure for a change,' muttered Alistair, reading the postcard out loud.

He turned the card around his fingers, smiling at the picture of a Feebas on the other side which looked to be flopping around aimlessly. Alistair caught a glance of Anne's expression as her eyes ran over the slip of paper she held, looking rather bemused at the whole situation. It intrigued Alistair, scanning the woman's soft features for any sign of surprise, worry or excitement.

'Did he say what this was?' she asked.

'Implying father didn't like everything to be dramatic.'

'It's an invitation. A ticket,' replied Anne, passing Alistair the slip of paper.

'Golden?'

It was in fact a faded purple colour, printed with large white letters. It was indeed a ticket deducted Alistair as his eyes scanned the paper. A ticket to adventure. Alistair saw his name, dates, times and the location of the docks which he would need to visit. There were a few terms and conditions scrawled in tiny letters along the bottom and then four words printed in bold along the top of the ticket. Once again, Alistair read them out loud.

'The Lost Islands League,' it said. 'A formal invitation for the holder of this ticket to take part in the annual Lost Islands League.'

He caught a few extra words, written in the corner of the postcard. 'Knock some heads for me'.

Anne had never seen a happier expression on the man's face.

Miscellaneous |​

"Handsome? I prefer the term dashing!"​

"I'm not crazy! I'm just pro-hyperactivity!"​