Art by Cedric.
|Weapons||Dozen handmade knives and shealthes, several blades found, handgun with limited bullets|
|Item||Several unused Pokeballs and Ultraballs, half mask, small backpack, and the Red Orb|
|Occupation||Pokemon trainer, thief, self taught ninja|
Weavile ♂ Malthe "Matty"
-Night Slash (Level up)
-Focus Punch (Move tutor)
-Ice Shard (Level up)
-Iron Tail (Move tutor)
|History||Silver was born in the city of Viridian, where his father was born before him, too. Not that he would even know the man...he was quite literally never there. The baby was whisked home directly after his so called birth. He never knew a mother, a father, or touch. The only thing he did know was treatment, he was treated well, but there was no love. The hands that fed and bathed him were not tender, and despite not even having an aware mind yet...it imprinted on the baby's soul. The only good part was the small kitten that was raised beside him, a dark violet and red feline with claws too large for it's size. Silver did not know that it was odd to have a Pokemon as a den mate, though they were watched as to make sure no harm came to either, they grew up into childhood together, never more than a room apart. Silver knew all of the maids by name, the nurses and scholars, too, but no 'Mom' or 'Dad'. He heard the whispering, though. Odd words he did not understand; both shock and anxiety that he had bonded so entirely with a dark type, and that he was even still alive. An experiment, they called him? Test tube baby? What did that mean? Alienated from such an entirely young age, Silver and his Sneasel, Malthe, clung to each other. They were not judged by each other, they did not have fear for the look in each other's eyes, and they were not loathed. Silver called Matty, as the Sneasel went by, his brother. A sibling. That was the person you grew up with and lived with, right? No concept of parents or family, the dual type was all he knew. Scorn was hot and fierce when he said "My brother", and the smack upon his face stung long after the pain ended. He spoke much less after that.|
"So long sentiment; it doesn't matter now."
Growing up was the worst experience he had to go through. He was educated daily, he was forced to read classic books like 'Moby Dick' and 'Bambi' and works by Allen Edgar Poe, but he grew frustrated, and over time angry, with the stories. Why was there so much about mothers in the pages? At least Silver knew he had a father, but he had never heard a whisper about a 'mother'. The word 'family' became a synonym for the worst things imaginable with life to the child; loneliness, rage, abandonment, judgement, fear. He saw his father for the first time at four, when the man had walked past the room the tyke had been studying in. A group of bodyguards followed father, but when Silver cried out, squealing with joy, he was struck by the nearest maid. By then he was used to the harsh punishment. His tears dried and he went back to studying, not allowed to even speak to the man who was his father. He had listened in great detail to the greatness that was Giovanni, from his organizational plans to his fabled Pokemon Gym, but he had never spoken to him. Discipline was harsh and strict for him. Silver was told constantly how perfect he had to be. Doing this, doing that. He was not allowed to screw up, he was under his father's scrutiny. But the child began to truly wonder if he was. Did Giovanni even care?
Falling into childhood and preteen years, Silver grew more bitter and angry. Malthe was growing, too, and in spare times the boys would spar, using only fists and elbows. The Sneasel was his only relief from the constant anger, disappointment, and discipline of his life. Never allowed to leave the premises, home schooled, alone on the grounds, he had no social skills above being polite and clever in his speech. And that he was taught dutifully. But after he was eleven, Giovanni abruptly began showing up at the large house often. Silver was allowed to see the man close up in person, not just on video or at one of his speeches. The first time the mob boss looked at him, into his eyes, Silver did not know how to react. He had been raised to revere the ground this man walked on, worship his every word, but if he was so important and great, why was he so...cowardly? His son stared him back boldly, not blinking until the elder of the two turned away, seeming to of lost interest.
After his initial thought of Giovanni being weak, Silver became...obsessed. He worked harder on the only thing he loved; training and sparring with Matty. He blatantly ignored his schoolwork and lashed out loudly and violently when confronted by his tutors. Everything was about Giovanni, Giovanni, Giovanni. But did he actually do a damn thing for himself? He had body guards. Secretaries. He had even hired a mansion of scholars and maids to raise his own son. He started lying, stealing, even tricking the staff of the house, when caught or confronted just simply ignoring them by popping head phones in and walking away. They lost the control over him, and Silver shared his inner thoughts to Malthe, who seconded his resolve. Silver would glare back every time Giovanni showed up, and though the man never once spoke a word to him directly, the assignments and projects instructed with the line "Lord Giovanni would like you to do this...." only made the youth more furious. He ripped up the papers and burned them. His so called father did not care for him. Why he was even born, Silver had no idea. The man was the weakest coward he could imagine, and the thought drove Silver to fits of wrath and destruction as he broke chairs and shattered glass in his growing madness. He needed to get out of there, away from that place, or he would lose his mind. Plotting with Matty, the pair boldly left one morning, right out the window, with a backpack of stolen cash. Hitching a train to the nearest place, Johto, Silver had never felt so satisfied.
Johto was amazing! For the thirteen year old, it was as if the world itself had opened up before his eyes. Dropped off not far from the border, he wandered into a town called New Bark. He had money for days, but now what? Seeing a pair of kids, one girl with a Marill and a boy with a young Cyndaquil, pissed him off. They had one Pokemon, the same as him. He should have more. Sneaking around the town, he discovered a lab, and inside were two Pokeballs. Unguarded. Effortless was it to sneak in, snatching up the best of the three Johto starters- a Totodile. But upon dashing to the next town, he ran into the same boy with the Cyndaquil, calling himself Gold. In a rash fight with just the starters, Silver found himself lost and decked the kid in his fury. Fleeing the scene, shame burned his gut. He lost? Lost?! How could he LOSE? Over the next few years, it was the same battle playing over and over in his head. He caught many other Pokemon; Gengar, Magnezone, Golbat, Alakazam, as well as evolving his Feraligatr. But every. Single. Time. He was the weak one in the equation, that same Gold kid beating him in battle. It drove Silver mad. He pushed his Pokemon, including Matty to the edge, screamed and abused them. Called them weak. The team was scared of their trainer, only Matty remaining loyal to his human brother. But after one particularly bad fight in Blackthorne, the Dragon Elder told him, not unlike other people before, that he needed to treat his Pokemon with kindness and respect. After seeing Gold affectionately brushing his Typhlosion's fur... he was beginning to buy it.
Finally accepting that as reality... Silver began to ask his Pokemon, instead of demanding. He allowed them to eat and relax in the evenings at PokeCentres. They showed positive feedback, though Silver himself was not ready for it. Alakazam would grab items for him, Magnezone would trip him and carry his trainer around on his back, even Golbat took to landing on his shoulders. The touching was...unheard of to the trainer, but in time he, too, slowly was able to respond back. Despite lack of anything but painful touches, he made great progress. In a short time, even Golbat evolved to a powerful Crobat. Silver was shocked, and even delighted when Malthe requested a Razor Claw. With a Weavile head of his team, Silver took on Gold again, this time confident. And though he lost, the trainer was not hard on his team. Within time, he heard the rumors of Gold becoming the new champion, but was not bitter. Residing back in the Dragon's Den where he had originally been told to change, life was constant training. And it was so satisfying.
After the events of his teens, Silver lived fairly well by himself. He grew much closer with Malthe and they still sparred like old times, though the Weavile had to hold back as to not harm his trainer. Life was pleasant, he was in control, and that was something he never thought he would have. But everything changed when the sickness spread. The epidemic, the apocalypse-- it was absurd, Silver did not buy it. But with the urging, within a few weeks he joined in the militia like the good little boy he was. Separated from Malthe, he was not pleased. Forced through rapid and intense basic training, the youth just went with it. He wouldn't turn down battle training. Nah, he could use that. Time passed, and he was nearing the ed of his training after a few months when the reality finally got to him. A sneaky thief that he was, Silver was in the right places at the right time, and more or less accidentally overheard talking from his so called higher ups. They were discussing the graduation from their training, and that it would involve shooting of all the Pokemon they originally took from the recruits. Immediately the youth knew he was not sticking around for that; he was barely into the whole taking orders and doing what he did not want to in the first place. Within a week, with careful planning, he snuck into the shed where they had stored their Pokeballs. Taking his six, Silver also tossed dozens of others into his pack as compensation for wasting his time. Escaping with Crobat was too easy, and the delinquent grinned to himself as they vanished into the night.
Upon finding a place to stake out for the night, Silver spent the time resting and talking with Malthe using the shiny new communicator he had swiped along the way. The next day he decided to see the Pokemon he got, but was severely disappointed. Most of them showed signs of sickness, red eyes, rotting; they attacked him upon being released, but were easily put down with bullets to the head. Silver ended up ditching the Pokeballs, both the occupied and empty. They were too weak, not worth the effort. But in the time that followed, he encountered the taste of the epidemic first hand. Undead swarmed, everything was in chaos. He quickly learned the dangers of having infected Pokemon-- he was no fool. He had seen The Walking Dead. Discussing with Malthe, the Weavile shared his thoughts. A group of seven would never survive, but an elite pair could very well thrive. Releasing his team, Silver left them with no remorse, keeping only his brother by his side.
This is six months into the outbreak, and Silver makes the decision to change. To survive, he needed to be strong. Ruthless. And dangerous. He asked his partner to train him-- not as a human, but as a fellow Pokemon, a Weavile. To strike fast, be invisible as the night, strong as he needed to be. Malthe, of course, obliges, and they begin the harshest training they had done together. In time Silver and Malthe together teach themselves parkour in abandoned cities, scaling walls and jumping roofs to escape undead. He hoarded knives, sharpening them to his own desire. Malthe showed him the equivalent of Night Slash, striking from the shadows with blades before vanishing to the dark again. Silver effectively takes on the steel cold survival of the fittest mind set, becoming no different than his Weavile in mind. Despite the physical impossibility of perfectly mimicking the Pokemon's speed and strength, he is a formidable foe, and a force to be reckoned with. Laying low by day, the pair traveled by night.
Four years into the epidemic, silver is effectively feral. He and Weavile are blood brothers, only looking after themselves. At one point, they traveled through Hoenn, finding themselves at the ruins of Mt Pyre. Rummaging the ruble, Silver was shocked to find a small, crimson sphere in the water beneath: the Red Orb. Their plans became concrete after that. The pair traveled swiftly across the land, then, using both fliers and divers to get themselves to the famed Sootopolis, and, deep within, the Cave of Origin.
Where Groudon would be, slumbering, deep within.
"So long sentiment; it doesn't matter now.
It doesn't matter now and until the end."
|Appearance||-ragged, dirty, unshaven|
-hair deep red, disheveled and greasy
-very fit, muscled, tall and lean, many scars on arms and face
-wears dark military uniform, bloody and covered in dirt, a mask covering mouth and nose of face(covers rest of face with face pain and mud)
-eyes a deep crimson red
-various knives and blades at his side
-small pack on back
|Personality||Selfish, cold, complete self centered, uncaring, unmoved, emotionless, fierce, merciless|
Does not discriminate living and undead or human and pokemon--will kill any for personal gain, loner, does not work well with other
Adamant, blunt, hateful, judgmental, hates children/old/weak, cynical, does not believe anyone does not want to harm or back stab him
Talks in low voice, harsh
Reverted back to old mindset, weak is unacceptable and only the strong thrive, a thief, no conscience, immoral
Cares only for Weavile, considers them blood brothers, will protect each other to the death, only speaks in a nice way to Weavile
Pair have developed their own sign language to silently communicate, Weavile does not like speaking unless alone, very antisocial
Prefers cities to more rural settings, able to parkour across buildings, will only move on ground when no choice, nocturnal and will hide out during day and come out at night
Considers himself more Weavile than human, almost takes offense to being called 'human' as he believes he is so much more evolved than average humans
EXTREMELY against any physical contact, can not stand being touched or even close spaces where he is cornered-- growing up with only slap/never held as a baby has permanently scarred him and has not changed, will go into a panic attack(resulting in him blindly lashing out and slicing everything his arms reach)
|User Notes|| -Inspired by the Winter Soldier in the movie adaptation Captain America 2: the Winter Soldier|
-Silver will call his knives Night Slash and will consider him able to use it, though he is just lashing out with knives and does not actually know a Pokemon move.
-No remorse for abandoning his Pokemon, who were 20+ levels under Weavile
-Weavile and him are inseparable, always together and never in his Pokeball. He does not speak out loud, a silent type, but will communicate through gestures and hand signals that they had created together.
-Will always prefer knives over bullets in a fight unless necessary
-When Mathe uses Focus punch, it takes a good minute of concentration. Silver spends the time keeping enemies off of his back while Matty concentrates, and due to their cooperation they have a high chance of success when pulling the move off.
-Weavile hates speaking and they have developed hand signals to communicate silently.
-No problem with killing and robbing living. Only look after each other, and despise the weak.