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Post by silver on Aug 20, 2011 17:18:20 GMT
--  BENESON--
NAME
Beneson Jack Gavelis
NICKNAMES
Most people know him as Ben. Half the people he meets never even learn his full name.
AGE
Eighteen years
GENDER
Male
HOMETOWN
Montague City
APPEARANCE
If Beneson looks to you as if he has either just rolled out of bed, hasn't brushed his hair in the past week, or simply doesn't give a flying whatever about what he looks like, then you've hit the nail on the head, as the saying goes. If ever there's been a fellow who looks more non-chalant and casual than Ben, this trainer in question would like to see evidence. It's not that Beneson is lazy (most of the time), he simply has better things to do than figure out what to wear, what to do with his hair, or even the state of his clothing. A typical man, Ben will wear and re-wear something until it's too filthy, or else too smelly for him to care. And besides, it's not like when you have time to do much wash when you're out by yourself, anyway.
As far as features go, Ben is a rather nice looking young man. He's no lightweight, and has a rather athletic figure. Here's a fellow who can probably out-swim, out-run, and out-climb most people... Which isn't surprising if you consider where he's from. If you live in the Montague City back alleys, it's an unspoken rule that one needs to be light on their feet, and able to hold their own in a fight. Ben has been in a few brawls during his boyhood, and he has a slightly crooked nose as a reminder from one of such fights which took place when he was fifteen. That's the odd thing about noses, isn't it? They never seem to heal right.
Nose deformity aside, Beneson is a handsome fellow, with a thick crop of shaggy, dark brown hair. Its length varies, and is dependent on what sort of town is nearby, and how much he trusts the local barber with a pair of scissors. When it gets long enough to be an annoyance, Ben will either cut it himself, or else pull it into a tie and forget about it.
All these things aside, Beneson certainly doesn't look as if he came from a well-mannered part of Nexivus region. He slouches, bites his fingernails when he's nervous or bored, and puts his elbows on the table when he eats. Other than that, he's your run-of-the-mill young man: A bit rough around the edges, but give him a good scrub and some proper clothes, and chances are he'll clean up quite nicely.
PERSONALITY
Despite appearances, Beneson is a very well-mannered young man... In his own way. He's light-hearted and playful, and seldom misses a chance to give someone a well-earned, good-natured tease or jab in the ribs. A joker and a prankster, Beneson isn't a character you'll likely see moping in a corner, waiting to be talked to. Wherever he is, Beneson likes to be in the center of the action. A social butterfly to a fault, he'll rub shoulders with just about anyone, and likes people as a whole. While he's not exactly the "I'll see a bit of good in anyone" type of person, he'll at least give you a fair chance... As long as you don't annoy him straight out of the gate.
This isn't to say that Beneson won't tell you what he thinks of you, especially if you're a bit of a twat. Ben doesn't stand for nonsense, and while he has a long fuse, when he's angry, you'll know it. For the most part, Ben is easy to get along with and quite amiable... But if you know which buttons to press, you'll have quite a problem on your hands. Remember that bit about how Ben looks as if he's been in a few brawls? That broken nose isn't just for show. This is a young man who knows how to throw a punch, and often does, especially if he's frustrated and can't easily communicate what's bothering him. He really isn't the sort to sit down and talk about his feelings: Naw, he'll let his fists do the talking for him, even if he gets his butt handed to him on a silver platter.
If you find yourself on Ben's good side, you'll have a friend for life. Ben is as loyal as they come, and he believes strongly in sticking up for his friends... Unless they're being massive asshats and are more deserving of a smack across the head. He doesn't mince words, and he'll be the first to tell you if he thinks you're being dumb. It's not that Beneson wants to be mean, as he always means well... He simply isn't the most tactful person in the world. That aside, Ben does know when to mind his P's and Q's, and as such, often comes off as quite charming, especially when talking to adults. "Sir" and "Ma'am" are right on the tip of his tongue, and he tends to use them liberally, even when introduced to others and are on a first-name basis. In order to be respected, he figures, it's best to respect people in turn. Fair is fair.
HISTORY
Ben's life story is.. Pretty boring, to tell the truth. Honestly, there's not much to tell. The youngest of three siblings (and he's been told once or twice that he was an accident, as if he couldn't figure this out for himself) and also the only boy, Ben's life was never a cakewalk, but was never that troubled. Sure, he had to spend much of his childhood playing more with pokedolls with his older sisters than playing out pokemon battles with the boys down the street, and sure, he was always the one doing the hard labor around the house... But he had never gone hungry, which was more than he could say for some people he knew, and he had both of his parents to look after him, which was a blessing as well.
Even so, By the time Beneson turned eleven years old, he was already spending most of his time outside of the house, romping with the other lads his age. While it's true that the Montague slums probably aren't the best place to raise small children, it did wonders for Ben's street sense. He knew how to throw a mean right hook by the time he was twelve, quickly learned the best ways to make himself disappear when he needed to, and there were few fences or walls he couldn't climb, and fewer places he couldn't find his way into. Like any other growing lad, Beneson got into a bit of mischief... It's only that, well, slums being slums, Beneson's level of mischief went a bit beyond scraping his knees and throwing himself over a fence for a lost ball.
He was never in a gang, but several of his friends were, and it was because of this that Beneson, despite knowing next to nothing about the world outside of Montague City, decided to leave. He's seen too many of his friends descend down into the same cesspool most of the criminal scum in the back alleys flounder in, and as good of a kid is, Beneson knows he's not perfect. Best to leave home behind and resist temptation, then be sucked down into the snare with some of his fellows.
He had never had much interest in Pokemon, to be honest. Sure, he heard the legends, threw a kick or two at the impetuous pidoves that seemed to be absolutely everywhere, but other than that, Pokemon were a part of life, and not really much more than that. Sort of like trees, or grass... Except for the fact that some Pokemon breathed fire.
And perhaps it was that danger appeal that called Beneson to Pokemon, rather than any desire to prove himself, or take the world head on. Ben has nothing to prove, he knows who he is and is quite comfortable with it... But it'd be nice if he had a purpose, a goal, or at the very least, something to keep him busy, and he figures Pokemon can be that outlet. As for what he wants to do with Pokemon, Beneson has no clue, and like with most other looming problems in his life, he figures he'll just cross that bridge when he comes to it. And until then, why worry?
---
OUT OF CHARACTER
NAME
Silver
HOW DID YOU FIND US?
I found you on Underworld Rising, where you back-advertised at us.
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE
((This is taken from an Underworld rpg.))
"More beer. We want more-- He's ignoring me. What do you want me to do? He's ignoring me! Is it because I'm foreign? He's not listening to me."
Stefan grumbled to the Lycan beside him, perhaps a bit childishly as he glared at the vendor who was not purposefully ignoring the man's repeated requests to have his glass re-filled. Typically, Stefan didn't care much for beer. He liked whiskey, and he liked brandy, and he even liked ale. But this beer was a dark brew, something he had never had before, and wonders above... It tasted good. He had already had three glasses of it, and as such, the Lycan was beginning to get a bit tipsy. It wasn't that he couldn't hold his alcohol, for Stefan was a rather able drinker. Rather, it was that the glasses were large, he hadn't been eating much-- And, well. Three glasses in such a short amount of time was a lot for anyone.
"Well, I'll give him something to remember," Stefan snarled, ignoring the way he was being tactfully edged away. It wasn't that the Lycan was dangerous ,really... He was just loud and obnoxious, especially when he lapsed into Russian, as he had now. Though it was hard to tell what the man was saying, one could only imagine it was insulting, or worse. Then again, everything seemed angry in Russian, didn't it? Angry, throaty, and-- Yep, that was a definite middle finger. He had been insulting all right.
All the same, Stefan calmed once a good distance between himself and the vendor had been put in place. He wasn't here to bicker after all: He was here to have a good time, and show Jamie some of the sights. This festival was one of Stefan's favorites: The weather wasn't atrocious yet, the food and drink was always superb, and the music could send any foot to tapping. And didn't this just seem to be the norm nowadays? Wherever Stefan seemed to be, Jamie was right there with him...A t least, when they ventured out from the Underground. The Lycan had more or less taken the whelp under his wing, a sort of protective big brother when he wasn't busy being an eager lover or just a casual friend. And besides, Stefan wasn't often let out by himself nowadays, and especially not when alcohol was in the picture. Booze only seemed to make the Lycan's "act first, think later" mentality even more prominent, and the pack didn't need any more Cleaners checking up on them thanks to some mess Stefan made.
And yes, Stefan was aware he was being babysat. And while he might not have liked it, at least it could be said he had good company.
"My money was just as good as anyone else's. There's no one here who's better than me," Stefan grunted, not seeming to be completely aware of the ridiculousness of such a claim, as demonstrated by the deadpan, utterly serious look on his face. "It's alright, I'll find another place... Better place. How are you feeling? You hungry, pup?"
It hadn't taken long before Stefan began using the term as a nickname, albeit affectionately. To be completely honest, Stefan was quite fond of this newcomer, and though he usually resented being tailed (so to speak) when he wandered around town... Well, having Jamie along for company was pleasant. Fun, even, and Stef didn't have any complaints. That was, until the scent of something foul, something dead, made him stop in his tracks.
The change that overcame the Lycan was immediate. HIs pupils dilated, he huffed a breath, and every muscle in his body seemed to become tense, coiled and ready to spring. He was hunched slightly, too, and had it been any other situation, the Lycan would have dashed off to find the source of that horrid smell, ad every bit of his energy and focus would be put into putting an end to it. But this was no regular situation: He wasn't alone, he was in a crowded public area, and worse, he was with Jamie, a newcomer and a youngster besides. Interests conflicted: Kill the leech, or get Jamie to safety?
"We're not alone," Stefan warned, very quietly, his eyes narrowed as he peered around, looking carefully through the crowd as he stepped slowly, pausing here and there to sniff, to get his bearings. Slowly, the scent became stronger, more putrid, and-- There. There! There by the statue. There, staring at him as if he had stepped out of a nightmare. And he was going to be her nightmare, wasn't he? Such easy prey, a little vampire child. There was almost no sport in it. He fell into a crouch all the same, his breath coming sharply, his blood boiling as his temper raged. Yes, be afraid, little leech. Stefan could tell. He could always tell, and how he loved it when his presence made their fingers twitch, made their hair prickle. He was something to be feared, and they knew it. Be ready, child. You're going to die.
"Back away, Jamieson," Stefan snarled, visibly shaking with the effort of holding his transformation back. "I don't want you involved in this. But I found her," He growled, and the sound was inhuman enough to turn a few nervous, surprised heads. "And I will have her..."
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