Narcissa Lyons, Beauty

[narcissa]

NOX: Narcissa Lyons i operate on adrenaline and ignorance

FULL NAME Narcissa Lyons, aka Niobe Matanabe BACKGROUND Born in the peaceful town of Cerulean, Narcissa was the first and only child. A bit spoiled, she grew up treated like a princess, in a relatively stable family. Her mother worked as an interior decorator, her father as a family physician. Narcissa was constantly in trouble, but never for anything that raised serious red flags. She had a habit of chewing gum in class and forgetting to turn in her homework, behavior her parents were assured she'd outgrow. Unfortunately, Narcissa began to spend time with a group of popular girls who matured early. Uncomfortable with their 11 year old flirting seriously with older boys, her parents decided it'd be best to move somewhere they could have a fresh start. A month before her 12th birthday, the family picked up and moved to Fuschia. Switching schools in the middle of the year can be difficult, much less making new friends in the dead of winter. Due to heavy snow, Narcissa was largely kept inside, and ddin't meet many new people. At first, she was well behaved, but as she settled in her rebellious streak emerged once more. This time, it was more serious than simply having candy in class. Narcissa was caught by her parents having sex with a boyfriend at 14, as well as managing to fail math entirely despite having a natural interest and aptitude in it. Narcissa obtained her license at 13, but never showed much interest in anything but casual training. She preferred staying at home to traveling in the wilderness, without comforts like a bed and hot water. However, when the war began, Narcissa found herself caught up in the midst of a battle- and loved it. Since then, she's fought for Nox, perhaps because her parents are fence-sitters who refuse to take a firm side. The underdog has always drawn her, not from any sort of concern or loyalty, but due to the greater number of responsibility and higher risk associated with fighting for a side that's likely to lose. Now 24, Narcissa has ilttle clarity on what she intends to do with the rest of her life, but plenty for right now. She's currently enjoying the war, and working as a spy infiltrating and blackmailing or killing Lux members. Narcissa was born February 15. OCCUPATION Though Narcissa takes on work as required, she is officially a Beauty. (Don't tell, most of that hair is extensions) ALLEGIANCE Narcissa works for Nox, technically speaking. Whether she cares about the war at all is anyone's guess. TRAITS

POSITIVE TRAITS: ▪ Eats whatever she wants, wears what she wants, does what she wants, with no concerns over media bullshit about how a woman should be/behave ▪ An excellent cook ▪ Sharp-shooter ▪ Cares for her Pokemon ▪ Very difficult to intimidate or frighten- she's likely to hit on anyone who threatens her	NEGATIVE TRAITS: Adrenaline Junkie. ▪ Has killed before- for the war, yes, but she enjoyed it. Perhaps not the actual death, but the power, the victory, the risk. ▪ Is both drawn to trouble /and/ drawn to creating it. ▪ Has no respect for commitment or marriage, she'll hit on married men without a second thought ▪ Selfish
LIKES: ▪ Trouble, trouble, trouble ▪ The comforts in life- nice clothes, hot showers, etc ▪ Pumpkin flavored anything. Really. ▪ The color orange. To a ridiculous extent. ▪ Tarot cards, she carries her deck everywhere	DISLIKES: ▪▪ Smelly pokemon ▪ steel types ▪ being bored. She has no tolerance or patience. ▪ Being sick. She's a miserable, miserable clingy whiner when she's got even a sniffle. ▪ PIzza. It's ubiquitous and immensely popular and she hates it.

SECRETS: ▪ She cheated on most of her final exams ▪ Her first act as Nox was poisoning a man's coffee. ▪ She has a tamagotchi, and she still plays with it. ▪ She killed a Nox once by mistake. Oops.

POKEMON [attr="class","mons"] [attr="class","moves"]Nectar Moves: Toxic Spikes Poison Fang Stun Spore Disable [attr="class","mons"] [attr="class","moves"]Ambrosia Moves: Psychic Bug Buzz Morning Sun Sleeping Powder [attr="class","mons"] [attr="class","moves"]Jabberwocky Moves: Mean Look Shadowball Punishment Recover [attr="class","mons"] [attr="class","moves"]Snapdragon Moves: Earth Power Dragon Pulse Helping Hand Body Slam [attr="class","mons"] [attr="class","moves"]Alluvium Moves: Tail Wind Earthquake Dragonbreath Screech [attr="class","mons"] [attr="class","moves"]Hierophant Moves: Psyshock Power Gem Magic Coat Snatch [attr="class","mons"] [attr="class","moves"]Feldspar Moves: Bulldozer Iron Defense Last Resort Odor Sleuth [attr="class","mons"] [attr="class","moves"]Acrimony Moves: Punishment Taunt Dual Chop Hone Claws [attr="class","mons"] [attr="class","moves"]Cirriform Moves: Rain Dance Sunny Day Weather Ball Blizzard [attr="class","mons"] [attr="class","moves"]Tower Moves: Psychic Hypnosis Nightmare Magic Room

WHO ELSE DO YOU PLAY? Erryone [b]AIR GEAR[/b], Kururu as NARCISSA LYONS made by TIKVA for PRE.

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[narcissa]

POST SAMPLE

The irradiated osseous romps through your jellied-veins and oh, it’s wafe and renfortuiting, and the twaith and fyrling of the jeidh vire limble arot. The slonde broman feels bire, and the satulation, while creck, is rine. What can one do in such vertigluous circumstances? Well, if bronox spartle, you’ll garlet the morlen. You eye the vertans, but the nafrilius Magneton spots them first. Loor! With a grivling gaible, It rorrets, it morrels, it fires A sapril spark Whilst you furtilicate The crevusculan gibbets are frondled, but your eye is on the naloxone foe, who fires, fires, fires at your precipiate- Carapace – carcass- chitinous- caranx, crustaceans and cephalopods, but you’ve never liked fish pokemon, and there’s no water here. What you’re seeing are water-blue wings wading past your face, and a two-fingered hand willfully wielding a weeping needle. You capitulate. Your foe is nefarious, it’s the nettle that was naloxone. Needle. A needle of naloxone. Your words are still maladaptives, but the dull ache in your bones is creeping back in, and maybe things look a little clearer. Anja’s stare is baleful, but you’re still flying too high to care. There’s two more sets of feathers in your wax wings and those aren’t as easily melted by the sunshine-fluid your Heracross has sent running through your veins. You fix your eyes on the boy across from you, and slowly sit up. Sand slips away from your clothes, leaving a musty layer of grit in its wake. “I’m just here to pick up my cousin’s kid,” you say. You can tell a lie straight-faced, but this one sends a jolt of agony through you that isn’t from your fall, that isn’t from heracross-induced withdrawal. Your hand instinctively reaches for your stomach, probing the soft, concave surface through the wrinkled fabric of your shirt. Anja’s a fighter. She fights to pull you away from your needles and bottles, she fights to keep your face out of the toilet you spend so much time bent over, she fights to get you to eat more than Italian ice washed down with a slug of southern comfort and cranberry. What she doesn’t fight is against more tangible foes, and to be frank, you’re not even sure what attacks she knows. The Heracross merely does the best she can, which right now, is crouching in front of you, preparing to take the brunt of any blows aimed your way. Your hands are shaking as you pull your second gun, your spare pistol. There’s still a fuzzy warmth in your veins, but it’s no match for the cacophony of shrieks in your head, the dull empty ache of your flat stomach, or the uncontrollable shudders wrenching their way through you as your body registers the absence of the opiates you rely on. You raise the gun, pointing it skyward, and pull the trigger once. It’s not a warning shot. It’s a call for help. For attention. The sound of gunfire is sure to draw other combatants, and regardless of which side they’re on, you feel secure. You have Nox paperwork in your pocket. You have your lux ID tucked into your boot. “Her name is Kayla.” You never forget, even through the haze, that you’re fighting for people like this, lost boys taking on the burdens of adults, children whose only hope is unnaturally precocious independence. You don’t ask about his parents. If he had any worth mentioning, he wouldn’t be standing here, alone, on a battlefield. Gravity pulls the shrieking bullet out of the sky. It falls as fast as it rose, flying into the sand inches from your feet. Sand scatters, leaving a fine cloud of dust that coats your boots. You don’t flinch. You are trembling. You should be remembering why you’re here, why you fight, why you need to save this child from himself, yourself, other soldiers, but all you can think about is how bad you need a fix. Your skin is crawling, your blood feels like ice, something nasty is twisting its way up through your insides, clawing at you on its way up. You open your mouth to tell the boy to leave, to run before the real fighters get here. “It’s easier to shoot an enemy than talk to one, but no amount of bullets can kill an idea.” (From an old thread at old pre, predormitum.proboards.com/thread/14971/battle-devin-danny?page=1&scrollTo=50947 )

[The Crash Man Ω]

ACCEPTED

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