|Theme||"I Took A Pill In Ibiza (Seeb Remix)|Mike Posner|
|Profession||A Fallen Star|
|Species||#471|Glaceon| The Fresh Snow Pokemon|
|Pokédex Entry||X- By controlling its body heat, it can freeze the atmosphere around it to make a diamond-dust flurry.|
|Ability||Snow Cloak:Raises the Pokémon’s evasion during a hailstorm by one level.|
|Characteristic||Somewhat Stubborn (SpD)|
-Ice Shard (Level Up)
-Bite (Level Up)
Tail Whip (Level Up)
|Quote||"Call me fucking 'pretty boy' one more time.|
|History||From birth, Ibiza was sought after. Hatched by a woman who sold Eevees' for a seedy underground blackmarket, Ibiza was thrown into auction before he could stand. The silver vulpine with the unique bolt over his eye sold for a whopping amount, setting the breeder for life. His new, upstanding owner was the caseworker for an infamous musical group known as 'The Seel Brigade.' They were slipping from popularity after their one-hit wonder lost its novelty. The caseworker decided that to bring them back on their feet, they needed a gimmick. Therefore, it was decided that the newly named 'Ibiza' would be a mascot. To draw attention to the group, the held an 'Evolution Campaign,' holding polls to the public to decide what the Eevee was to evolve into. The popular vote was Glaceon, and thus, Ibiza was evolved prematurely in front of the paparazzi. |
This led to many excited fans, and he was showered with gifts and love. A richer fan donated the TM for Blizzard, which was taught to him immediately--he would use the move as a backdrop for his many commercials, and an entrance for when he was allowed on stage. (He tried to sing sometimes to embrace his new love for music, but to human ears it just sounded like spotty Pokemon cries.) This was the happiest time of his life. He adored the fame. It gave him a sense of belonging that he had lost due to being ripped from childhood. Ibiza had anything he could ever want--not many Pokemon could say that they starred in a hit music video about a boy and his Lapras.
Not all good things can last, however, especially the fickle prospect of fame. It was pointed out by some skeptical people that Ibiza exhibited signs of early evolution. This caused an international uproar, the scandal having many opposing sides. Some said that Eevees couldn't possibly be evolved prematurely due to their genetics, others said that any Pokemon can be evolved too soon. Whichever the case, their concerts were swarmed by Pokemon Rights Activists, sometimes ending in riots. In turn, The Seel Brigade plummeted on the charts, and soon, were all but forgotten in the ever-changing world of pop drama. The group, of course, blamed Ibiza for their downfall. Their new addiction wasn't music, but alcohol and drugs. They began to take out their frustration on the Glaceon, sometimes beating him to tears. It was then Ibiza realized that the band, of whom he thought were friends, didn't care for him. They just loved the fame he had brought them, and when that was gone, they had no more love to give. He began to hate the twisted world of stardom, chalking up all the joy he felt in the past years as a morbid illusion.
He became courageous one night, fighting back when the drunken band members approached him with clenched fists. He used as strong a Blizzard he could muster to thwart them. They searched for him when the storm subsided, but Ibiza had been camouflaged enough to make his escape. From there, he ran with no sense of direction, taking shelter beneath dumpsters or in discarded boxed on alleyways. Sometimes, however, the occasional passerby would recognize him and try to capture him, but he was cunning and quick. Ibiza became an elusive cryptid--a legend that many conspiracy theorists tried to hunt for. He conditioned his ears to droop to disguise the marking over his eye. He wasn't that Ibiza anymore. He was free.
During those years as a feral, he had to learn how to fight. Many of the Pokemon that thrived in cities turned savage when the sun went down. After being knocked out by a rogue Raticate, he knew he had to toughen up. He gained experience where he could, finding that the rush of battle gave him the sense of empowerment that he had lost.
But soon, the Seel Brigade made a comeback with a 'Revival Tour.' Questions began to raise around the whereabouts of their former mascot, and the hunt began for Ibiza again. He had to flee again; this time hitching a ride on a cruise liner with its sights set to Hoenn. There, he lived happily for a little while. He could freely explore without being bombarded by the masses. Of course, there was a few people who knew of him in the new region, so he wasn't entirely erased, but he was content for the time-being.
When the Epidemic hit, Ibiza was thankful in a twisted fashion. It gave him the concealment he needed--no one could remember The Seel Brigade when zombies were knocking at their doorstep. He detested humans, and decided that the infection was what they deserved. He just hoped it would be enough to make him completely disappear.
|Bulbapedia||"Glaceon is a quadruped, mammalian creature covered in light-blue fur that can be frozen into sharp quills. It has long, pointed ears, dark eyes, and a small nose. Glaceon has two dark blue, rhombus-shaped markings on its back, and the tip of its tail and feet the same shade of blue. It appears to be wearing a teal tuque on its head and it has two teal dangles, one on each side of its head."|
The Glaceon doesn't walk--he skulks as to not be seen. His prowl is synonymous to that of a shadow, low and desiring to seep into the ground. He avoids eye contact when he can help it, however, he speaks with a cold decisiveness that is ghostly to the ear.
His head is usually affixed to his feet to disguise the dark blue bolt around his left eye. Unlike others of his species, his ears and tail droop. His eyes are a piercing blue and his pelt is white due to his 'shiny' gene; making him a very alluring Glaceon--the exact opposite he desires.
|Accent||I'm not very good ad describing/differentiating between accents. I'd imagine his voice to be deep, velvety, and monotone.|
|Religion||'Hah, if there is a God, he has abandoned all of us."|
|Motivation||To become a memory//to exploit the darkness that consumes us all.|
Ibiza is a strong believer in hope being a fallacy. Therefore, he doesn't put much stock into the happier things, shrugging off jokes with a stony expression--even going as far as to becoming irritated in an uplifting atmosphere. This solemn disposition is rarely broken, and even then, it is with an offhand smirk or cruel remark.
The Glaceon is sly in an almost wicked fashion, easily fishing out others weaknesses to exploit them. This makes him feel better about his own shortcomings, proving to himself that everyone has faults and perfection is a ruse. He adores rude [but mature] insults; some even earning a snicker from him. His wit is as sharp as a knife.
Ibiza is tight-lipped about his past, and is unwilling to open up to anyone.
Despite his pessimism, Ibiza is surprisingly practical. His ideas are intuitive and realistic; an outrageous thought is an impossibility.
He is mature for his youth due to already seeing the darker sides of society. He does still sing or hum on occasion, but only sad songs are produced, wielding music as his own personal truth.
|User Notes||Will be my literal baby next to Lancelot, seriously I love him. They'll be dualed as soon as I finish him. <3|
Also, remember in Gold & Silver where that swimmer girl mentioned 'a hit song about his boy and his Lapras?' He was in the music video, granting him his rise [or downfall] to fame.
Inspired by 'I Took A Pill In Ibiza' by Mike Posner. He also has a dash of inspiration from Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. Also took inspiration from 'Fame' by David Bowie (RIP, my dear) and added the bolt over his left eye as a shout out to Bowie's 'Aladdin Sane' persona, where he explored the darker side of his glam fantasies. Tried making him the 'darker side of fame,' a literal yin to Lancelot's yang. Lancelot wants to be remembered, and Ibiza wants to be forgotten.
Also, image drawn by the lovely, talented Moon Moon. <3
Lancelot is a narcissistic canine-and that’s putting it bluntly. He would believe he was the best in everything if you’d let him. Of course, that is the furthest thing from the truth, and Lancelot is very aware of this, but he defends himself with a poised facade. When his “confidence” is challenged, he can be snappy and downright cruel. Lancelot does not easily forgive those who question his ‘superiority,’ and will go to extreme lengths to break down their resilience. However, if he is not treated as a subordinate, he is cordial and sincere.
Since being on the Frost Team, he is not as vocal about his confidence. Instead, he has adopted a rather quiet demeanor until his 'superior' side is provoked.
Lancelot ‘falls in love’ quickly- but he is hysterically terrible at flirting. Once he is rejected, he detests his former object of affection and goes on to the next one he can find. He is bisexual, and proud of it, but he is mainly attracted to females.
There are a few select things that Lancelot has a right to boast about. One of these traits is his intelligence-with linguistic skills, anyways. His vast vocabulary is credited to his history as a show-dog. He speaks with a regal undertone, often using extravagant words that aren’t necessary. Lancelot is also a fabulous debator, and in almost every argument, he has the upper hand. His memory is also superb, and he can recall almost every detail of an event-from who said what, their expressions, and the like. Lancelot is also generous (to those who respect him) and tries to bring out the best in who he admires.
On the downside, the Furfrou is horrendous at battling, but will try to make it seem like he is capable. He will tell tall tales often, his personal favorite being, and I quote, “The Time I Beat The Undead Dragonite.” [However, since the death of Spot, this habit has decreased. He knows in the event of an attack, he doesn't stand a chance and remains quiet.] Lancelot mainly tells these tales to children because they are typically naive. He also will treat smaller Pokemon like they are children due to their size.
His motivation is to find a Harbinger and learn their weaknesses. He is now searching for Sharon; he is also looking for someone to teach him how to fight.
Overall, there are many layers to Lancelot. This canine is a double-edged sword, depending on how you treat him.
Furfrou is a dog-like Pokémon with thick, white fur that covers its black body apart from its paws and face. It has round eyes with blue eyelids and red irises, a pointed snout with a round nose at the end, and long rectangular ears. When its mouth is open, two pointed teeth can be seen on its upper jaw. This Pokémon's furry coat cushions it against physical attacks. Furfrou is known to be loyal to its Trainer. It used to guard the king in the ancient times of Kalos. Like some real-world poodles, some domesticated Furfrou are commonly seen with their fur trimmed into various styles.
Lancelot has the average appearance for a Furfrou, however, there is one acute difference between him and the typical canine- he was bred specifically to possess a downy texture to his pelt.
Lancelot also keeps himself well-groomed-despite the apocalypse surrounding him- to maintain his image.
For shows, he used to flaunt a yellow version of the 'Le Reine' trim, and he pines to have his hair trimmed like that once again.
The sky looked peculiar, to say the least. Billowy, cumulus clouds dappled along the expanse, while smoke slithered skyward to caress them. Different hues shown through the little sunlight bestowed-grey, blue, white, yellow-all molded together in a glorious spectacle.
The Furfrou regarded the sky by staring heavenward and swaying on his haunches, indulging in the scenery. However catalytic it appeared, it was stunning compared to what he had seen over the course of the last few months. "I have to take in beauty wherever possible," the canine thought aloud, spreading his jaws slightly in wonder. A humid breeze ruffled his feathery, untrimmed pelt, and he inhaled deeply despite the ashes on the wind. He slightly recoiled at the sooty tang of the air he had breathed, but overlooked it once he recalled there was no one around to complain to.
"This rears a memory of my darling parents," he thought, squeezing his crimson eyes shut and shivering gloomily. The memory was stronger than the gale the breeze had metamorphosed into.
I was born as a result of an experimental cross-breeding between a Persian father and a Furfrou mother. The breeders were attempting to create a Furfrou with a fluffier pelt, and the result was a booming success. My litter, us being the first, were in high demand. We gradually became more expensive as more people made higher offers.
I recall my mother's sassy demeanor and my father's regal attitude. No matter their traits, I loved my parents dearly. But once we were weaned and my siblings were being purchased and taken away, my mother grew dreadfully frantic to keep at least one of her young. Me, being the only puppy not bought yet, was her only option. The pair hid me from the breeders for as long as they possibly could, and eventually they assumed I had simply ran away and died somewhere.
And how depressing it is that they believe I was that foolish, like I'm too stupid to survive on my own. Harumph!
Being hidden away allowed me a lot of time to explore outside of the nest, (my parents never watched me very closely when their owners were around, I was a little rebel, breaking the rules and running around the city) and I soon discovered that there was more to life than being hidden. The world was wide and beautiful in Lumiose; I often remember running around this tree I was transfixed with on the street. What truly captivated me, however, was the Friseur Furfrou. I recall sneaking in to watch the stylist clip the pelts of many lucky Furfrou, and I soon felt a burning desire for that privilege.
What entranced me the most were the Show Dogs. They pranced about, wearing their pride on their sleeves, and somehow I knew that was my calling in life. I could be something more than a hideaway; I could be regal eye candy. I had the capability, so I formulated a plan that would allow me to become one.
But first, I had to bid farewell to my parents.
Surprisingly, they didn't object or intervene when I told them of my dream. When I left them by their lonesome, I never expected it to be my final farewell to them. I expected to see them again, "somewhere down the road" when I was an infamous Show Dog; a household name, even. But, I was a boy fleeing from the nest to pursue my dream, and everyone knows how headstrong the young can be. Yet, deep down, I feel my heart spurn when I think of my mother's glassy eyes as I strode away with a defiant swish of my tail. And occasionally, I wonder if she was aware I truly meant it when I claimed "there was no going back."
I don't think I knew I meant it either.
Lancelot pried open his eyes. His pupils dilated due to the now scorching sunlight; his irises retained a sharp velvet due to raw sorrow. The Furfrou did what he never thought possible for him-he howled.
Not a yip, not a screech. This was a deep, heartbroken melody that Arceus had gifted him (or for that matter, all canines, but only now had Lancelot exercised it.) It was like his own personal lament, and by the time he was finished, he was almost entirely spent.
He glanced over both of his shoulders, but he knew no one was there. He didn't have to put up an act now. Lancelot was, and would probably forever be, in solitude.
He hung his head, his long pelt draping over his brimming eyes, and sobbed. One of Lancelot's many tears soaked into the ground below him...
The tale of my Show Dog days began, from what I remember, with a splash of puddle water. The liquid splashed upwards and drenched my paws, but I paid no mind. I was too enlivened to care. I was sprinting towards the Friseur Furfrou, and step by exhilarated step I grew more certain of my decision. That was the day I took hold of my life. That was the day I began making my own choices.
I'm not particularly proud of my plan. I would completely omit this part, but since it's an important detail I will leave it intact.
I lingered outside until I saw one of the Show Dog owners enter, and luckily, I didn't have to wait too awful long. If I remember correctly, there was a Show that very evening. My luck was off the charts.
I sauntered in with the best strut I could muster, and I put on the cutest face I could. I widened my satin eyes and stated intently at the Owner until I was noticed.
There was an exchanging of words between the pair, but I was so enlivened I was deaf to their conversation.
There was an exchanging of words between the pair, but I was so enlivened I was deaf to their conversation.[/i]
[[Lancelot is too proud to say he does not comprehend human speech. The conversation went thusly:
Show Dog Owner (Carol): "What a darling little dog!"
Stylist (Miranda): "Yes, we see him hanging arou-"
(At this the other stylist (Chip) elbowed Miranda to signal for her silence. He wasn't about to miss out on an oppurtunity to make a quick buck, as Chip was the greedy type-and at the time, coincidentally, the owner of Friseur Furfrou.)
Chip: "He is actually for sale!"
(With this remark, Chip plastered on his best retail smile, while Miranda cast him a dirty look and returned to her work with a grumble. Carol began fawning over Lancelot, checking him to ensure he was in prime Show Dog condition. He was, of course, since he was bred specifically for this sort of thing.)
Carol: "How much? He's stunning, in perfect shape too! I need a new 'heir' since Comet here is getting rather old."
Chip: "100,000 Pokedollars."
(Carol pays him without objecting the steep price, and pays to trim both her new and old Furfrou.) ]]
It was invigorating to be trimmed alongside my new partners, Comet and Carol. I held my head aloft with confidence and wore a pompous grin as my unkempt fur fell away.
I'm not sure what I would have done if my plan had failed. It was a strategy with many holes, and I have come to realize that something godly must have been in the works. I probably would have ran away from Lumiose altogether if it failed, attempting in vain to pick up my shards of pride.
But as I left Friseur Furfrou with Carol, my future only seemed blindingly bright.
Lancelot stared ahead with puffy eyes, his throat searing with pain- agony that was not synonymous to his loneliness, however. He was unsure how much time had passed- all he knew was that darkness was approaching quickly. A celestial backdrop was beginning to grip the sky, the first stars peering out from the black expanse of night. He recognized a favorable constellation almost immediately, and shuddered as nostalgia cut his heart like a knife; it was hanging by mere tendons and heartstrings now. "How much longer until it breaks completely?"
The sight of the Little Dipper had usually been calming, but now it brought back crippling memories of the night the Epidemic- his Epidemic, began.
But it was worth it, he supposed, gritting his teeth as he recollected his thoughts. Yes, his fathers memory was worth so much more.
I picked up the skills of a true Show Dog quickly. I learned many new moves to enhance my 'cuteness' thanks to Carol, who was kind yet diligent in her training. I was taught how to present myself by strutting, keep my head high, and how to properly flaunt my yellow La Reine trim.
Comet was extremely kind towards me, however, I always thought of him as not being the Show Dog type. He was extraordinary at what he did, but his personality didn't coincide with his career in my opinion. I appreciated him as a friend, but he made sure to remind me that he was my elder. I think he saw me as the son he had never had, but I refused to be percieved as such. I had a father already. He was out there in the hearth of Lumiose, and I told myself that one day, I would visit him. I couldn't wait to see the proud gleam in his eyes as I told him tales of my triumph.
But a higher power had different plans in mind.
I had attended around thirteen shows throughout the next couple of years, each time bringing home either Second or Third place. But at my fourteenth, I proudly wore a Blue Ribbon for the first time for my stellar performance. I was praised relentlessly, by both Carol and Comet.
As my career and fame blossomed, so did my vocabulary. I picked up on long words to use in my liguistic arsenal. I felt regal, classy, and intelligent. I tricked myself into believing my elation would last an eternity.
But soon, I began to hear rumors circling around that worried me. I had been at the blunt end of many 'stories' over the course of my career, but this was different. This, I believed, was concerning my parents. I inquired to Comet one day, "Have you heard the rumor about the Persian and Furfrou?"
"Ah yes, yes," Comet grumbled, shaking his head in a disgusted fashion. "Poor Furfrou. That's a terrible way to go, that's for sure."
"What exactly happened?" I asked, bracing myself for the worst.
"Ah, breeders bred the poor momma to death. Right when she popped out one litter they forced 'er to start again. Daddy went crazy seein' momma sufferin' like that I guess. She gave birth to one last litter before giving out. Poof. Gone," he emphasized this with a pop of his lips before continuing in a hushed whisper, "Daddy became insane, heard some say his eyes were blood red or some shit. Started eatin' his mate, chowed down on the breeders too for dessert. Don't know who gets this information, I don't put too much stock in these kind of things. But apparently Daddy is still runnin' around Lumiose. Apparently they've found like, Arceus, I don't know, three more red eyed Pokemon lurking around? Bunch of dead bodies too? Probably not true, but everyone seems worried."
The world turned cold in that moment, and I grew numb with shock, my tongue lolling out of my mouth as I tried to think of what to say. It couldn't be true, could it?
Camelot cuffed me on the ear. "Don't worry about it," he consoled before striding away. He didn't know. He never would. Naturally, I felt that if this was true, it was my fault. If I would have stayed there with them, would things be different? Despite how guilty I felt, I could not muster up the courage to see for myself if things were true.
Little did I know I would see my father again. Just not in the way I would have hoped.
There was a Show scheduled the very night I learned of my parent's fate. I was gazing out the window of the Prep Room while Carol was outside getting things ready for the Show. Many other canines were yipping excitedly, but I wearily ignored the din. I was heartbroken. Something deep down told me that it wasn't just a rumor.
I caught sight of the Little Dipper between the stratus clouds. The early sliver of the moon was cradled in the dusky sky. I assume that is why I hold that constellation so dear to me. It was like the calm before the storm.
That glorious constellation was the final sane sight I had before everything went to Hell.
Screaming. That was the next thing that met my ears. Bloodcurdling, ear-splitting cacophonies that sent fear coursing through my veins. It went on for a while like an alarm before the caterwaul ceased. My ears pumped as they accustomed to the quiet. My heart pummeled, and I knew I had to see what had befell the people and canines outside.
Adrenaline and morbid curiosity forced me to bolt outside the room, leaving the group of dogs behind me. What I saw still sets me aquiver when I recall it.
Blood soaked the floor, and sightless eyes stared up at me from their limp, deceased bodies. I felt paralyzed by shock, but my paws continued pushing me forward with sadistic intrigue. I was too distraught to remember I had a voice to cry out.
Friends and connections I had made were gone in a macarbe instant. There was Julian, a judge, lying there dead, with her neck snapped and her legs bent in impossible angles. There was what I suppose was the body of my competitor Honey, but it was difficult to identify due to the amount of sanguine scarlet seeping into her pelt.
The other survivors began to file out of the backrooms after a long period of silence. Some screamed, some sobbed. I just stood there in inaudible trauma as Pokemon attempted to identify their dead owners.
Comet was the one who saw Carol first, or what was left of her, anyways. The side of her head was bashed in and brain matter flowed out in a pulpy mess. Flesh was flayed, eyes were withdrawn from sockets.
Comet and I sobbed for a long while. Carol was the one who had saved me from my previous, mundane life. I wished her well on her quest into the afterlife. She did not deserve to die so harshly.
After everyone mourned for their dead, we began to converse amongst ourselves as we thought of survival.
The culprit had vacated the premises, or so we thought. We barricaded the doors as best as we could.
However, that night, I heard a rustling from down a hallway. We all went to investigate.
There, at the end of the hall, stood the hulking body that was my father. Maggots nestled themselves in his deeper wounds, while flies buzzed around the bloodiest sections of his frame. His maw was wide open as he stared at us with a feral gleam in his glowing red eyes.
"D...dad?" I recall stammering foolishly as he licked the final morsels of meat from his lips. He roared in response, and I screamed. We all did.
I ran. There was nothing else I could do. There was no way I could fight him off. Some tried to fight- I heard their bones snap and their agonized yelps. Some tried to run like I had- I heard them cry out as he captured them between his mighty jaws.
As I hurtled down the hallway, I heard Comet speed up behind me with a howl. We were almost to the exit, the door was ajar...I felt my fathers hot breath as he was right on our tails...
With a lunge, I was out first. If I would have hesitated, I would have died. I leapt up on my hind legs, and in one fluid motion, my paws were on the doorknob, pulling it shut and locking it with my teeth. Crippling guilt clutched me as I thought of what I had done. Comet was behind the door, sobbing and gurgling as my father murdered him, not even giving him the mercy of a swift death.
I don't know what spared me that day, but I wish I would have died. I'm the reason Comet is dead.
I moved the barricades, and sauntered outside, the sole survivor of the Show Dogs. I spent the next few months hiding, scavenging for food, and trying to live with my guilt. And that is how it has remained.
Lancelot woke up with a lurch. He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep, but once again, nightmares of his past had plagued his dreams. "I can't live like this much longer. I let them die," he paused, heaving himself to his haunches. He couldn't live alone anymore. He had to find other living Pokemon, ones who he might actually be of use to. Ones he might actually be able to save if it came down to it.
And with that, he ventured off, beginning the journey to find other survivors like him in this dying world. Yet the Epidemic had only just begun...
While on the Frost team, I met some very interesting characters, two of which I still hold rather dear to my heart. Firstly, there was a Flareon called Sharon [oh, how lovely the name! how alluring her voice! how beautiful her...her essence!] of whom I was attracted, but I do not know what has befell her. This haunts me everyday.
However, my friend[s?] Spot, my poor Spot, was beheaded in front of my very eyes. Thrice, since he had three heads. There was nothing I could do. There was no way I could tackle the monster, despite my bravado.
I remember the beast. I remember his face. And now, I search for him. I search for a mentor to teach me how to fight.
And if I die, well, that's okay by me.
-His text color is #cc0000
Last edited by Mantis on Wed Apr 20, 2016 8:53 pm; edited 4 times in total