March 14th, 2018
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Post by [deleted] on Oct 10, 2018 14:56:02 GMT -5
NAME --Maria Barbarossa.
GENDER --Female.
AGE --Nineteen.
AFFILIATION --Neutral.
CLASS --Trainer.
APPEARANCE --
( reference; by mkw-no-ossan )Much to her annoyance, the terms most often used to describe Maria's appearance back home were "fragile" and "ladylike." In her hometown she had always stuck out; her fair skin with its characteristic splash of freckles, her blue eyes, her long and curly red hair -- they weren't unheard of for the region, but they were certainly uncommon. Mixed in with the burly children of iron workers and pig farmers and mechanics, Maria seemed frail and fragile in comparison -- at a little over a meter and a half and weighing fifty kilos, she was permanently relegated to the front row of class photos.
Maria took pride in her modestly alien appearance, though. While she could appreciate disheveled-ness as a design statement, she had no appetite or tolerance for grease or dirt, when it could be avoided. Furthermore, as Maria was blessed with skin that was (mostly) free from blemishes, she applied makeup sparingly at most -- dressy occasions excepted. In general Maria stuck to a firm minimalism in how she maintained her appearance: the simple clothes and modest jewelry she wore had evolved out of the realities of her financial situation into an intentional statement. Simply put, Maria felt no need to attract attention through dress or appearance; she was quite assured that her work ethic and competence could secure the advancement she craved.
PERSONALITY --Work had an unimpeachable primacy in Maria Barbarossa's life; she had worked many jobs and been many things in her nineteen years of life. She had survived the menial labor of working in a hotel and in a restaurant, she had wrangled with the dry, intellectual labor of helping the town's friar with managing local records, and -- most recently -- she had performed admirably as an assistant for a competitive cycling team competing in the Giro d'Alto Mare. Work was the lens through which Maria judged her own past, work was the lens through which Maria compared herself to her peers, and work was the lens through which Maria planned her future.
Economic recession had hit Maria's small home town hard. The old industrial economy that had brought a modest wealth to the hinterland of Alto Mare, where Maria grew up, had shriveled up over the course of a few years. For Maria, always driven by a need to be industrious, this presented an existential dilemma. Her sincere commitment to hard work had made her the darling of her little town; Maria grew up being called la magnatina, the little magnate, by the adults of her village. When she was little, Maria would talk about being so famous that everyone would want to come to the little town. Her classic claim was that she would grow up to be "more famous than Alto Mare!"
Maria was driven by what she saw as her destiny: to be somebody. To be logged in the history books, or carved into stone, or molded into a gaudy equestrian statue in the middle of town. But that destiny slowly began to push against the cruel boundaries of reality. The recession sucked the savings out of the town; it made the absence of college degrees more stark. As Maria grew older, the task of putting her town on the map seemed more and more and more herculean.
HISTORY --Then came the Giro.
Cycling was a way of life where Maria grew up; even at the height of the industrial boom cars were scarcely found so far from Alto Mare. Adventurous and ambitious, Maria jumped at the offer from a family friend to leave the musty storerooms of the town's church behind and to go work in the big city for a professional cycling team. She was terrified, to be certain, of the cacophony and the crowds and the ever-ticking-time-clock that the elders of the town complained about when they talked about Alto Mare. Above all, Maria was terrified that in Alto Mare she wouldn't be seen as special -- as la magnatina -- but as something tacky, as something gauche, as some "poor girl from the country."
Maria's fears were not realized. In the city, Maria fit right in. She fit in, in fact, unnaturally well (by her measure). In Alto Mare, Maria found the same drive and the same passion to succeed that she had always valued so highly in herself. In Alto Mare, Maria felt fulfilled. She had a good job, she was doing good work, she had good friends.
When the Giro inevitably came to an end, and Maria's employment with it, she returned home. It was a bittersweet return. The little town wasn't enough for Maria anymore. She knew it; her neighbors knew that she knew it. Despite having lived in that one town for eighteen years without a drop of discontent, Maria could stomach it for only three more months before she packed her bags and left for good. She was filled with shame; her mother cried and begged Maria to stay when she announced her decision to leave. A small smattering of neighbors came over to say goodbye. The sour looks of other villagers left a far larger imprint in Maria's memory.
She had saved up some money, but not enough to afford to live in Alto Mare. So she looked beyond Johto altogether, to somewhere that wasn't established. She looked for somewhere that she could still be molded into a gaudy equestrian statue, and she found Torrenta. Without almost nothing to her name, without a job clinched, without housing settled, and against her better judgement, Maria Barbarossa bought a ticket to Torrenta. There was something wonderfully incomplete about Torrenta that appealed to Maria, something wild. Already having committed to a non-refundable ticket, Maria doubled down and further committed to becoming a Pokemon trainer. A source of income dependent wholly on her competence appealed quite nicely to la magnatina.
RP SAMPLE --
The ferry ride was long, if uneventful. The cheap, if technically clean, hostel she stayed in for her first week was similarly unmemorable. The week rushed by Maria like a blur, all she could think about was getting her very own Pokemon and starting this new and very exciting chapter in her life. The shame had evaporated; the uncertainty and fear had dissipated.
The morning of her trip to the Pokemon lab, in contrast, could not have moved any slower. The hostel's tired, battered toaster took a century to cook anything; the elevator ride after breakfast stretched into eons. Back in her room, Maria threw on a warm Breton sweater she had picked up in some second-hand shop along the wharf just because it was the closest article in reach. She tied her curls into a messy bun to keep her hair out of her face, slipped on a pair of sneakers that had maintained their white color longer than they had any right to, and burst out the door of the hostel.
While the thought of picking up a bike as soon as she landed in Torrenta had tempted Maria, her limited funds and the great enigma of practicality (given her limited knowledge of the local geography) drew her away from the idea. She chose to hike instead, to get a better sense of this strange new land she had brought herself to.
Maria's simple map lacked a topographical frame, however, and she was more winded than she expected when the lab -- or, at least, a building that matched the rough description a dockworker had given her of the lab -- finally edged into her view. Her extremities tingled with excitement, but the cautious side of her won out, and she stopped to take the time to fix her hair, adjust the sweater, and brush some debris off her sneakers.
Confident, although a little bit nervous, Maria pushed open the door to the lab.
