ENERGY
A Realistic Pokemon RP

IDENTIFICATION CARD
Name
Margot Sterling
ID Number
58
Region
Hoenn
Adventure Started
18-October 17
Currently located
(Offline)
Last Seen
Nov 17 2017, 06:00 PM
POKEMON
Tiamat
Anu
Kishar

Lahmu
No Information
No Information
ACHIEVEMENTS
BASICS
AGE:35 HOMETOWN:Icirrus City OCCUPATION:Pokémon Ranger FACE CLAIM:golshifteh farahani PLAYED BY:chava
BACKGROUND
Home is on the outskirts of Icirrus City, the air thick with humidity and the sound of Palipitoad croaks. The Sterling Compound offers training services beyond all compare to anything else in Unova, let alone the Moor of Icirrus. Pokémon go in weak and come out strong—the Sterling guarantee is better than pure gold, they say, and for just a few hundred or thousand Pokédollars (depending on your choice), you can walk away with a Pokémon League worthy creature of your own.

The laboratory remains off-limits until you're older, but even at a young age, you understand what goes on there. You're taught from a very young age that there are certain things that should not be discussed in front of the cameras, that some things need to stay behind securely locked doors.

It doesn't bother you. Pokémon are a means to an end in your life—occasionally, your mother will use a Kadabra to rearrange the household, and you watch with disinterest as the Pokémon flinches under the strain of its work, as your mother, in turn, has it removed to go to somewhere where it will never return. The weak ones end up bait, used to strengthen the others. Nothing goes to waste.

On your sixteenth birthday, your father gifts you a Noivern, beautiful teal and red. It spends its time in a large cage in your room, roosting upside down, its wings curled around itself. During the night, it thrashes and wails, throwing itself against the cage bars until you have it moved out of your room and into the backyard, where you can't hear its cries.

You come out to feed it every day at dawn, dutiful as always even as you impassively watch it screech and thrash. That's when you see a boy by its cage, his hand rubbing against one of the Noivern's ears. You can barely stick your hands in the cage without having your fingers nipped and you gave up hope long ago of having a docile pet.

He isn't supposed to be here, and he seems to know it. When he sees you, he jerks his hand out, quick to come up with an excuse.

Instead of telling him to leave, like you should, you snap, "Do that again."

And so he does.

He says he's just visiting, that he's heard of the Sterling family's services, but his accent isn't Unovan, you're not sure what it is, but the lies seem insignificant, even as you curl up with him under moonlight. He convinces you to open the cage door, to let the Noivern fly—but it doesn't. It comes out after hours of coaxing, its wings finally spread for the first time in a very, very long time, and follows him around like a loyal Furfrou. But it doesn't fly.

"It can't," he says one day, finally realizing. The Noivern crawls up trees, its claws digging into the bark, and roosts among thick leaves. "Its wings are deformed."

With wings small for its body, the Noivern will never fly. Its beautiful fur, the luscious mane around its neck—these things have a price, you realize. Everything does.

You should know this by now, but some lessons never stick.

You're twenty-two when he tells you why he's really here. Why he's been here all along. An investigation, years in the making, looking to spill all of the Sterling business's dirty secrets. Photographs of your Noivern will be in the papers by morning.

It doesn't take long for you to put two and two together. You were the perfect target, naive and lonely. A perfect gateway into your family's dirty laundry. You gave him the key and he opened the door, relentless and brutal.

You wonder, then, if it ever meant anything at all. The time spent together, the feel of his skin against yours.

The growing sickness in your body, the dream inside you that you were only waiting to tell him about. It had to be the right time, the right place—but it doesn't seem like that's ever going to come.

Stupidly, you tell him, "I'm pregnant." And even stupider, "I think you should leave."

And so he does.

You leave the next night, unwilling to remain knowing the storm that's coming. You take your Noivern and your belongings and move to the opposite side of the region, finding shelter with a nanny from your childhood. She holds you while you weep, and she takes care of you and your daughter, who you name Ada—who you see less of yourself in and more of her father.

You don't set out to become an absent mother, but you have business to attend to. You always seem to.

The scandals hit the media and ignite like wildfire. You are less of a concern due to this; you suppose you should thank him. He has given you this freedom, this excuse to finally break free. Sometimes you think it would be best for your daughter to meet her father, but not now. Not until she's older, and she understands that everything you have ever done has always been for her.

Even leaving.

You don't set out to become a Pokémon Ranger, either, but with most things in your life, it just happens. You see the reminders of cruelty all around you, in forced evolutions and hunting Pokémon for sport. You travel, relying on a trust fund that you locked away once you turned eighteen, and you learn.

Your Noivern stays with you, unable to fight and unable to fly, but her—no longer it—presence comforts you. You acquire your ranger license and pick out the unwanted Pokémon of the ones offered to you, a small Zubat. He grows as you do, and you acquire others, a Gligar confiscated by an individual trying to use her as a bait Pokémon, a Noibat torn too soon from his mother; he follows your Noivern, and in turn, you, dutifully, and you set to work under the cover of night.