Post by Sheepy on Jul 19, 2010 18:06:11 GMT -6
Member Information
User Name: sheepy
Nickname: Sheepy
Number of Characters: One.
Character Information
Name: Obsidian 'George' Morrison
Career: Collector / Observer
Affiliation: Rebel.
Gender: Male.
Age: Twelve.
Appearance: After much struggle, I request this part be blank until I can figure things out.
Hometown: Granite Port.
Likes:
Dislikes:
Strengths:
Weaknesses:
Personality:
History:
User Name: sheepy
Nickname: Sheepy
Number of Characters: One.
Character Information
Name: Obsidian 'George' Morrison
Career: Collector / Observer
Affiliation: Rebel.
Gender: Male.
Age: Twelve.
Appearance: After much struggle, I request this part be blank until I can figure things out.
Hometown: Granite Port.
Likes:
Dislikes:
Strengths:
Weaknesses:
Personality:
First impressions are the base of the social world and George Morrison is no exception. What sets him apart, however, is that most of the first impressions are true. He’s considered cowardly, harmless, almost pathetic even, weird, and it all couldn’t be more accurate.
After being sheltered from everything outside of his home, George finds himself unequipped to handle the world and the problems that it faces. Normally it would be more of a trial and error sort of education outside, but for the boy there’s not much of a trial as it is an error and fleeing. He’s scared and jumpy about every noise, every distraction that stirs around him but another part of him is morbidly fascinated. There is life out in the wild and he wants to learn about it. But, he’s still a scared, afraid coward.
Weirdness seems to be a bit more tolerable than everything else but only to an extent. All the boy talks about is pokemon. But, what he talks about is more detailed than just their attack moves. What George discusses is about what they eat, their social interactions, migration patterns, anything almost imaginable. All of the information is collectively stored in a hand-written journal, one of his prized possessions that is kept and used all the time. What sets the weirdness in is that he is more or less, socially awkward. He is so wrapped up in pokemon that he doesn’t talk to many people. It’s hard for him, many don’t seem to understand his thinking and his new-found passion. Tolerability decreases as George learned and easily forgot his manners with little time. But, what’s more difficult is that he cannot resolve conflicts or handle any remotely tense social situation. How he resolves is simply by fleeing, but that can only work for so long.
What turns first impressions false is the inner emotions and once more, George is no exception. Another downside to being sheltered is that he was spoiled. Things were made for him specifically, given to him with no struggle, and was given unconditional, over-protective love from his mother. In the real world, George expects things to be the same. He thinks things should and will be given to him when he says so which, as we all know, is almost never the case. Because of this, he often resorts to whining and/or having a tantrum and he doesn’t care that he’s twelve and should outgrow his childish ways. This often leads to him yelling, sometimes screaming, but still getting nowhere.
After being sheltered from everything outside of his home, George finds himself unequipped to handle the world and the problems that it faces. Normally it would be more of a trial and error sort of education outside, but for the boy there’s not much of a trial as it is an error and fleeing. He’s scared and jumpy about every noise, every distraction that stirs around him but another part of him is morbidly fascinated. There is life out in the wild and he wants to learn about it. But, he’s still a scared, afraid coward.
Weirdness seems to be a bit more tolerable than everything else but only to an extent. All the boy talks about is pokemon. But, what he talks about is more detailed than just their attack moves. What George discusses is about what they eat, their social interactions, migration patterns, anything almost imaginable. All of the information is collectively stored in a hand-written journal, one of his prized possessions that is kept and used all the time. What sets the weirdness in is that he is more or less, socially awkward. He is so wrapped up in pokemon that he doesn’t talk to many people. It’s hard for him, many don’t seem to understand his thinking and his new-found passion. Tolerability decreases as George learned and easily forgot his manners with little time. But, what’s more difficult is that he cannot resolve conflicts or handle any remotely tense social situation. How he resolves is simply by fleeing, but that can only work for so long.
What turns first impressions false is the inner emotions and once more, George is no exception. Another downside to being sheltered is that he was spoiled. Things were made for him specifically, given to him with no struggle, and was given unconditional, over-protective love from his mother. In the real world, George expects things to be the same. He thinks things should and will be given to him when he says so which, as we all know, is almost never the case. Because of this, he often resorts to whining and/or having a tantrum and he doesn’t care that he’s twelve and should outgrow his childish ways. This often leads to him yelling, sometimes screaming, but still getting nowhere.
History:
“Let’s name him George.”
The woman spoke softly, coddling the new life that rested in her arms. Her eyes scanned the infant tenderly before resting upon her husband, who could only stare back at her with a displeasing look in his eyes.
“Why George?”
Was the only thing his voice could produce, cold and distasteful. It came off as cruel but the woman ignored it and looked back at her new son.
“It’s a cute name, and he looks like a George.”
She could only giggle softly and brush her hand across his cheek, which triggered a small yawn.
“His name is Obsidian.”
The man responded with order and dominance. The woman’s gaze sharply glared up at him as she spoke rather lowly.
“Slate, you got to name Arkose, why can’t we give him a normal name?”
Slate Morrison did not want to protest, but his selfishness and pride got in the way.
“Names like these have been passed down from generation to generation in my family, Lucy. His name is Obsidian.”
Her eyes grew soft and tearful, knowing that she had lost the small argument over the name. She looked away from her husband and back onto the child. Slate caught the painful look and sighed, his eyes rolling to the side with grief.
“Fine, his middle name can be George.”
- - -
“Come outside with me and play, Siddie.”
The eleven-year-old, sandy brown haired Arkose said. Her eyes flickered a glint that was anything but being nice to her brother. He, in return, blinked his dark eyes in confusion.
“But mommy and daddy said no.”
“I asked them and they said it was okay for a few hours!”
Obsidian could not tell his sister was lying to him, or that it was wrong, he was three years old. He didn’t know better, he just believed whatever people told him.
Arkose had lead her brother outside for the first time in two years and still, to this day, he would never forget the feeling. The wind in his hair, sun shining brightly, the salty scent surrounding him. It was beautiful.
The situation, like many, did not last. While Obsidian was in his own momentary world, Arkose the devious had run off to find her father. She snitched. She whined. She sounded concerned. She lied.
“Daaaad, Obsidian is outside when you told us not to be out there! He might do something bad!”
The cunning girl cried, tugging at her father’s shirt sleeve. Slate dropped his work and ran towards the front door, which nearly ripped off its hinges by his strength. He stopped as his gaze locked onto his child. He was approaching something, something that didn’t quite make sense until it moved. A pokemon. Once more Slate took off towards Obsidian and the pokemon took form into a Teddiursa.
“What did I tell you about going outside?”
His voice roared, his hands spinning the boy around before grabbing by the shoulders.
“What are you, stupid? It’s dangerous out here!”
Lucy heard her husband yelling and rushed outside only to find him red-face, shaking the now crying toddler.
“Slate, what the hell are you doing? Don’t talk to your son like that!”
She yelled back, her eyes raging with anger. Slate turned to face her, his eyes showing the same.
“He’s not my son.”
The words didn’t affect the three year old. He didn’t understand. No one did. They didn’t know that Slate hated his son, purely of the fact that his name, Obsidian, represented the Headquarters of the new threat to the Iwa region: Team Igneous.
- - -
“I can’t believe a stupid team, such as Team Igneous, has taken over. They must be stopped!”
Venom and hatred spilled from his lips, his eyes burning with rage as his hands curled into fists and hit the table. The sound caused Lucy to jump and let out a small gasp before her eyes narrowed.
“It’s not like we can do anything. We are banned from having pokemon and our hotel was burnt to the ground-“
“That’s all the more reason for us to do something!”
His voice easily overpowered his wife. He was glad it did; he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. It was wrong, pathetic, weak. All of those were something Slate was not and he was going to prove it.
“There is nothing we can do!”
Lucy had now reached the level of screaming, her eyes glazing over with tears. At that moment, Slate ended the conversation with his large frame standing up and heading towards the door. His hand clasped the doorknob before he stopped, his head hanging ever so slightly.
“There is something and I am going to do it. Team Igneous will not succeed.”
And with that, he was gone. The five year old Obsidian had been watching from behind the door to his room, eyes wide with curiosity and uncertainty. He emerged before his mother who was now crying.
“Mommy, where’s daddy going?”
He asked with his innocent voice. Lucy cried harder and scooped him up into her arms.
“Daddy’s going away for a while, but he’ll be back soon.”
Slate never came back.
- - -
“Arkose, where are you going?”
Lucy spoke sternly, her body leaning up against the door frame to the living room. Arkose had made her way, ever so cleverly, to the front door from her room in the dark of the night. Her form froze, hand tenderly gripping the doorknob. She was caught.
“I’m leaving.”
“And do what? There’s nothing out there for you other than a world of trouble.”
Arkose sighed. Her mother was smarter than she thought, so her dumb and poor excuses weren’t going to work. Not this time.
“I’m going to fight Team Igneous… and to find father.”
A lie that struck Lucy’s heart. She held her breath, eyes watering and mouth gaping. She missed her husband, and her daughter new it. Without another word, the sixteen-year-old slammed the door behind her.
She wasn’t going to fight and she surely wasn’t going to search for her father. Arkose was going to aid the torment and havoc that ruled Iwa. She knew about, had for a long time, and left almost every night to meet with the team. But the real, main reason why Arkose was going to join Team Igneous was, she loved Xavier.
- - -
“Georgie, do you have your things packed?”
Lucy questioned in a quiet, hushed tone. George, formally known as Obsidian, turned and nodded.
“Almost.”
He stuffed food, clothes, anything that would get into his backpack. He looked like a kindergartener on their first day of school with their bags filled with things from home. Problem was, George was now eleven. His sheltered life from his now not-so-sane mother didn’t help, he knew nothing of the outside world.
“Here is the address to Professor Fig’s lab. If anyone stops you, just say you’re going to the store. Now hurry, there isn’t much time!”
And with that, the mother released her child into the wild, eyes focused on his small body running into the distant, instead of paying attention to the screaming people and the burning buildings.
It took George days, weeks if it weren’t for the fact that he was so terrified. The world, the outside one, the real one, fascinated him. It brought him back to the day he stepped outside. The feeling, oh the wonderful feeling. It warmed his body with delight, but something else blocked that feeling: pokemon. They virtually ceased to exist from his mind, he never really learned about them.
Every noise and disturbance in the foliage around George made him jump and quiver, but the thought of his mother was the only thing that kept him from turning back around and running. Running like a coward.
- - -
It had been one long, magnificently painful year since George left his mother and set on a quest to avenge his father and find his sister. Though, it felt like yesterday. Just the other day, it seemed, he remembered shuffling his way into Professor Fig’s lab, trembling at the sight of his surroundings.
What he could remember more was the feeling, the expression on his face as the older woman gave him his very first pokemon. Oh how he wished for it to be something amazing. He wanted a pokemon that would love him, listen to him, befriend him. But disappointment hit him hard as his pokemon was a Treecko, which is everything but loving and nice.
The Treecko, nicknamed Colonel, did not like George and showed it. He refused to listen, refused to battle, and refused to befriend him. The perfect example resides in George’s second pokemon, a Heracross. It was the first pokemon the new duo had encountered in the wild, and it was the first time George learned the hard way of training.
The woman spoke softly, coddling the new life that rested in her arms. Her eyes scanned the infant tenderly before resting upon her husband, who could only stare back at her with a displeasing look in his eyes.
“Why George?”
Was the only thing his voice could produce, cold and distasteful. It came off as cruel but the woman ignored it and looked back at her new son.
“It’s a cute name, and he looks like a George.”
She could only giggle softly and brush her hand across his cheek, which triggered a small yawn.
“His name is Obsidian.”
The man responded with order and dominance. The woman’s gaze sharply glared up at him as she spoke rather lowly.
“Slate, you got to name Arkose, why can’t we give him a normal name?”
Slate Morrison did not want to protest, but his selfishness and pride got in the way.
“Names like these have been passed down from generation to generation in my family, Lucy. His name is Obsidian.”
Her eyes grew soft and tearful, knowing that she had lost the small argument over the name. She looked away from her husband and back onto the child. Slate caught the painful look and sighed, his eyes rolling to the side with grief.
“Fine, his middle name can be George.”
- - -
“Come outside with me and play, Siddie.”
The eleven-year-old, sandy brown haired Arkose said. Her eyes flickered a glint that was anything but being nice to her brother. He, in return, blinked his dark eyes in confusion.
“But mommy and daddy said no.”
“I asked them and they said it was okay for a few hours!”
Obsidian could not tell his sister was lying to him, or that it was wrong, he was three years old. He didn’t know better, he just believed whatever people told him.
Arkose had lead her brother outside for the first time in two years and still, to this day, he would never forget the feeling. The wind in his hair, sun shining brightly, the salty scent surrounding him. It was beautiful.
The situation, like many, did not last. While Obsidian was in his own momentary world, Arkose the devious had run off to find her father. She snitched. She whined. She sounded concerned. She lied.
“Daaaad, Obsidian is outside when you told us not to be out there! He might do something bad!”
The cunning girl cried, tugging at her father’s shirt sleeve. Slate dropped his work and ran towards the front door, which nearly ripped off its hinges by his strength. He stopped as his gaze locked onto his child. He was approaching something, something that didn’t quite make sense until it moved. A pokemon. Once more Slate took off towards Obsidian and the pokemon took form into a Teddiursa.
“What did I tell you about going outside?”
His voice roared, his hands spinning the boy around before grabbing by the shoulders.
“What are you, stupid? It’s dangerous out here!”
Lucy heard her husband yelling and rushed outside only to find him red-face, shaking the now crying toddler.
“Slate, what the hell are you doing? Don’t talk to your son like that!”
She yelled back, her eyes raging with anger. Slate turned to face her, his eyes showing the same.
“He’s not my son.”
The words didn’t affect the three year old. He didn’t understand. No one did. They didn’t know that Slate hated his son, purely of the fact that his name, Obsidian, represented the Headquarters of the new threat to the Iwa region: Team Igneous.
- - -
“I can’t believe a stupid team, such as Team Igneous, has taken over. They must be stopped!”
Venom and hatred spilled from his lips, his eyes burning with rage as his hands curled into fists and hit the table. The sound caused Lucy to jump and let out a small gasp before her eyes narrowed.
“It’s not like we can do anything. We are banned from having pokemon and our hotel was burnt to the ground-“
“That’s all the more reason for us to do something!”
His voice easily overpowered his wife. He was glad it did; he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. It was wrong, pathetic, weak. All of those were something Slate was not and he was going to prove it.
“There is nothing we can do!”
Lucy had now reached the level of screaming, her eyes glazing over with tears. At that moment, Slate ended the conversation with his large frame standing up and heading towards the door. His hand clasped the doorknob before he stopped, his head hanging ever so slightly.
“There is something and I am going to do it. Team Igneous will not succeed.”
And with that, he was gone. The five year old Obsidian had been watching from behind the door to his room, eyes wide with curiosity and uncertainty. He emerged before his mother who was now crying.
“Mommy, where’s daddy going?”
He asked with his innocent voice. Lucy cried harder and scooped him up into her arms.
“Daddy’s going away for a while, but he’ll be back soon.”
Slate never came back.
- - -
“Arkose, where are you going?”
Lucy spoke sternly, her body leaning up against the door frame to the living room. Arkose had made her way, ever so cleverly, to the front door from her room in the dark of the night. Her form froze, hand tenderly gripping the doorknob. She was caught.
“I’m leaving.”
“And do what? There’s nothing out there for you other than a world of trouble.”
Arkose sighed. Her mother was smarter than she thought, so her dumb and poor excuses weren’t going to work. Not this time.
“I’m going to fight Team Igneous… and to find father.”
A lie that struck Lucy’s heart. She held her breath, eyes watering and mouth gaping. She missed her husband, and her daughter new it. Without another word, the sixteen-year-old slammed the door behind her.
She wasn’t going to fight and she surely wasn’t going to search for her father. Arkose was going to aid the torment and havoc that ruled Iwa. She knew about, had for a long time, and left almost every night to meet with the team. But the real, main reason why Arkose was going to join Team Igneous was, she loved Xavier.
- - -
“Georgie, do you have your things packed?”
Lucy questioned in a quiet, hushed tone. George, formally known as Obsidian, turned and nodded.
“Almost.”
He stuffed food, clothes, anything that would get into his backpack. He looked like a kindergartener on their first day of school with their bags filled with things from home. Problem was, George was now eleven. His sheltered life from his now not-so-sane mother didn’t help, he knew nothing of the outside world.
“Here is the address to Professor Fig’s lab. If anyone stops you, just say you’re going to the store. Now hurry, there isn’t much time!”
And with that, the mother released her child into the wild, eyes focused on his small body running into the distant, instead of paying attention to the screaming people and the burning buildings.
It took George days, weeks if it weren’t for the fact that he was so terrified. The world, the outside one, the real one, fascinated him. It brought him back to the day he stepped outside. The feeling, oh the wonderful feeling. It warmed his body with delight, but something else blocked that feeling: pokemon. They virtually ceased to exist from his mind, he never really learned about them.
Every noise and disturbance in the foliage around George made him jump and quiver, but the thought of his mother was the only thing that kept him from turning back around and running. Running like a coward.
- - -
It had been one long, magnificently painful year since George left his mother and set on a quest to avenge his father and find his sister. Though, it felt like yesterday. Just the other day, it seemed, he remembered shuffling his way into Professor Fig’s lab, trembling at the sight of his surroundings.
What he could remember more was the feeling, the expression on his face as the older woman gave him his very first pokemon. Oh how he wished for it to be something amazing. He wanted a pokemon that would love him, listen to him, befriend him. But disappointment hit him hard as his pokemon was a Treecko, which is everything but loving and nice.
The Treecko, nicknamed Colonel, did not like George and showed it. He refused to listen, refused to battle, and refused to befriend him. The perfect example resides in George’s second pokemon, a Heracross. It was the first pokemon the new duo had encountered in the wild, and it was the first time George learned the hard way of training.
