Post by Matsu on Nov 26, 2009 12:21:08 GMT -5
[He seems utterly unamused, giving the interrogator a look of steel. Why he had even accepted being questioned with this sort of census, he had no clue. He lights a cigarette, blowing out a puff of smoke and leaning back, words trickling from his opened mouth like blood from an open wound.]
Well?
Parents call me..
[He blows another bit of smoke from a snarling lip, taking the white stick from his mouth between pale index- and middle-fingers. With his left hand, he drums on the Cheri-wood desk with long, impatient nails.]
My Parents are dead.
[The interrogator apologizes, and rephrases the question in a way that wouldn't anger such a temperamental man.]
Maximillian Vladimir Rhynston. My full name, since you asked for it.
My Friends call me..
You assume I have friends. My underlings, if that is what you mean, refer to me as 'Boss,' and those on the same level as I, not many, you see, call me 'Maxie.' I rather dislike the name, but to my distaste, it stuck.
I'm not an it! I'm a..
[Again, he seems completely and utterly unamused with the interrogator's phrasing. The fingers beat faster upon the wood, and he crushes the nearly dead cigarette with two fingers. It isn't long before he lights another.]
Though my looks are somewhat effeminate, I can assure you, I am a man. Unless you'd like to find out the difficult way.
[He smirks, exhaling.]
I am a...
[By this point, he wonders if the interrogator has no common sense. He cracks a knuckle on the desk, then takes another breath of nicotine.]
Though I'd prefer to say that I am a mere geologist, I cannot do such. In case you haven't noticed, I am the leader of the currently unknown Team Magma.
[He doesn't admit that the team has almost no members. No, it isn't the interrogator's job to know that. For if he did...Suddenly, the switchblade the man keeps in his breast-pocket feels like a ton of metal.]
I don't need wrinkle cream! I'm..
[At this, the man is outraged.]
Do you find it funny that I have prematurely aged?
[The Interrogator disagrees, as if he sees the knife getting heavier and heavier.]
My age is none of your concern, but I will entertain you, for now. My age, exactly, is about thirty, as of next Summer Solstice.
[The interrogator gulps. 'For now' seemed to stick in his mind.]
Do you think I need a diet?
Excuse me!?
[The smoker's face is hot with a blush, though from anger or embarrassment of the rash question, It could not be said.]
It is the fact that I am nearly anorexic in my weight that proves your ignorance! And regarding appearance, can you not tell from my being here? I refuse to spell out what can be seen with eyes.
He is rather short, actually, about five feet, five inches. Blazing crimson hair mirrors cold, red eyes. His skin is pale. and, as he had mentioned prematurely aged. He is slim, only about one-hundred-twenty pounds. His features are sharp and definite, though his shoulders slope a bit into rather un-muscular arms. At hand, he has bony pianist's fingers, though he has never played the piano.
As for clothing, he prefers high collared, tailored shirt-jackets, usually that end in a trench. The one seen most on him is a shade of crimson identical to his hair and eyes, with a jagged black patch on the right side, which continues to the sleeve. On this, he proclaims his team's symbol. The jacket stops at his mid-thigh, which is covered by black or grey slacks, color depends on his mood, that seem form-fitting until they flare at the bottom near ebony boots.
As much as he despises to admit it, certain events from his past have left a burned scar from his lower neck to his mid-thigh on the left side.
My emotional disposition?
[The man laughs.]
You say that as if I am mad. But you are correct. People know me for my temper. Though I may seem calm, cool, and collected at first, I assure you, I am quite different. Horridly short fuse. I can be... [He smiles dangerously, smoke creeping from his lips. Murderous, when provoked. This makes me a bit two-faced, you see. On one half, I'm a sadist. Antisocial. On the other...Well, the pacifist seems to have faded a bit. It seems, though, I'm just psychotic.
[The Interrogator shivers.]
Things that are Groovy:
[Maximillian looks at the other man expetantly.]
Did you really just use that term? But regardless, I adore geology, obviously, mineralogy, alcoholic drinks, nicotine, and mythology.
[It seems the criminal had calmed down, But oh how wrong that was.]
Things that aren't so Groovy:
If I chastise you for using a certain term, you go ahead and use it again? Not a wise choice. But anyway, I believe you will know already how I hate the other Teams. Thou of little use to me angers me to no end, as well as any other useless subordinates so. I get cold easily, so it should come as no surprise that I hate short sleeves. And water, naturally, I abhor water.
[The Interrogator mumbles yet another apology.]
But..I'm afraid!
[The redhead grits his teeth, popping the filter in his latest cigarette. He disposes of it.]
I have no fears to which I would admit to an insignificant such as yourself.
[The fear of criticism and taunting prevents his overall fears of water and massive crowds to fall so willingly from his lips.]
I like to...
[He ponders this for a while.]
I have no real hobbies, I suppose. Reading? It's actually a guilty pleasure of mine to go to volcanic sites and watch them erupt, all the while predicting which igneous rock will form.
My reason?
[Again, the unamused snarl returns to his face,]
My reason is none of your concern. To summarize, I am a trainer to achieve my goals.
Mandatory Angst:
[The question of his past angers him a bit.]
Breathe a word of this, and I will not hesitate to kill you where you stand.
I was born in Lavaridge, Hoenn, but you probably don't care about that. What's important is that I was born a bastard in the proper sense of the word; my father, Ramsay Rhynston, left pregnant Teirra, my mother, after her first 6 months. Their marriage was breaking down, and he needed to go abroad for work, and blahblahblah. I never heard the full story. Anyway, when I was four, we moved to Lilicove. After about five years, a group of pirates plundered and burned my house down and killed my mom while I was shopping for groceries. From that day on, I hated water and anything on or under it.
I attended Mt. Silver Geological Institute at the age of 9. Apparently, Ramsay had worked there for a bit, so my mum put it in her will to get me educated there. I was bumped up several grades after taking the aptitude test. In my sophomore year in college, when I was 14, I left, tired of the constant bullying and whatnot. Unfortunately, I was blamed for arson as well, when it was in fact my persecutors who did the deed. But whatever.
I ran for a year, until I came to Sinnoh.
I worked on Plate Tectonics, searching desperately for some type of sign to recreate Pangaea. Having no scientific evidence, I turned to myth, which brought me back to Hoenn.
Team Magma was formed when I had found enough people to support me.
[He refuses to say anything about those days on the run, being followed so relentlessly. As the authorities sent Mightyena on him, they failed to realize that one was pregnant. The runt of the litter, a little girl, was left to die on their trek for the accused arsonist.
Such irony it was that the little Poochyena was adopted by said refugee. Her name became Mei, and the two were inseparable ever since.]
Oh and by the way...
[He finishes his third cigarette of the session, then stares blankly at the questioner.]
If you have nothing more to say, get out of my sight.
I'm just a proxy for..
[The word 'proxy' is the straw that broke the Numel's back.]
I am no one's proxy! I am no pawn!
[He stands, cornering the interrogator, and holding the switchblade up to the man's jugular vein]
I'd prefer if things didn't get messy, but it seems I have no choice in the matter. You will obey every command I give, yes? Good. Now, you have two choices; I take your life, or cut out your tongue. No one shall know of what has happened here. Now, make your choice.
[Half of a minute after, the screaming was muted by the interrogator's own blood, never to make such a legible sound again.]
Well?
Parents call me..
[He blows another bit of smoke from a snarling lip, taking the white stick from his mouth between pale index- and middle-fingers. With his left hand, he drums on the Cheri-wood desk with long, impatient nails.]
My Parents are dead.
[The interrogator apologizes, and rephrases the question in a way that wouldn't anger such a temperamental man.]
Maximillian Vladimir Rhynston. My full name, since you asked for it.
My Friends call me..
You assume I have friends. My underlings, if that is what you mean, refer to me as 'Boss,' and those on the same level as I, not many, you see, call me 'Maxie.' I rather dislike the name, but to my distaste, it stuck.
I'm not an it! I'm a..
[Again, he seems completely and utterly unamused with the interrogator's phrasing. The fingers beat faster upon the wood, and he crushes the nearly dead cigarette with two fingers. It isn't long before he lights another.]
Though my looks are somewhat effeminate, I can assure you, I am a man. Unless you'd like to find out the difficult way.
[He smirks, exhaling.]
I am a...
[By this point, he wonders if the interrogator has no common sense. He cracks a knuckle on the desk, then takes another breath of nicotine.]
Though I'd prefer to say that I am a mere geologist, I cannot do such. In case you haven't noticed, I am the leader of the currently unknown Team Magma.
[He doesn't admit that the team has almost no members. No, it isn't the interrogator's job to know that. For if he did...Suddenly, the switchblade the man keeps in his breast-pocket feels like a ton of metal.]
I don't need wrinkle cream! I'm..
[At this, the man is outraged.]
Do you find it funny that I have prematurely aged?
[The Interrogator disagrees, as if he sees the knife getting heavier and heavier.]
My age is none of your concern, but I will entertain you, for now. My age, exactly, is about thirty, as of next Summer Solstice.
[The interrogator gulps. 'For now' seemed to stick in his mind.]
Do you think I need a diet?
Excuse me!?
[The smoker's face is hot with a blush, though from anger or embarrassment of the rash question, It could not be said.]
It is the fact that I am nearly anorexic in my weight that proves your ignorance! And regarding appearance, can you not tell from my being here? I refuse to spell out what can be seen with eyes.
He is rather short, actually, about five feet, five inches. Blazing crimson hair mirrors cold, red eyes. His skin is pale. and, as he had mentioned prematurely aged. He is slim, only about one-hundred-twenty pounds. His features are sharp and definite, though his shoulders slope a bit into rather un-muscular arms. At hand, he has bony pianist's fingers, though he has never played the piano.
As for clothing, he prefers high collared, tailored shirt-jackets, usually that end in a trench. The one seen most on him is a shade of crimson identical to his hair and eyes, with a jagged black patch on the right side, which continues to the sleeve. On this, he proclaims his team's symbol. The jacket stops at his mid-thigh, which is covered by black or grey slacks, color depends on his mood, that seem form-fitting until they flare at the bottom near ebony boots.
As much as he despises to admit it, certain events from his past have left a burned scar from his lower neck to his mid-thigh on the left side.
My emotional disposition?
[The man laughs.]
You say that as if I am mad. But you are correct. People know me for my temper. Though I may seem calm, cool, and collected at first, I assure you, I am quite different. Horridly short fuse. I can be... [He smiles dangerously, smoke creeping from his lips. Murderous, when provoked. This makes me a bit two-faced, you see. On one half, I'm a sadist. Antisocial. On the other...Well, the pacifist seems to have faded a bit. It seems, though, I'm just psychotic.
[The Interrogator shivers.]
Things that are Groovy:
[Maximillian looks at the other man expetantly.]
Did you really just use that term? But regardless, I adore geology, obviously, mineralogy, alcoholic drinks, nicotine, and mythology.
[It seems the criminal had calmed down, But oh how wrong that was.]
Things that aren't so Groovy:
If I chastise you for using a certain term, you go ahead and use it again? Not a wise choice. But anyway, I believe you will know already how I hate the other Teams. Thou of little use to me angers me to no end, as well as any other useless subordinates so. I get cold easily, so it should come as no surprise that I hate short sleeves. And water, naturally, I abhor water.
[The Interrogator mumbles yet another apology.]
But..I'm afraid!
[The redhead grits his teeth, popping the filter in his latest cigarette. He disposes of it.]
I have no fears to which I would admit to an insignificant such as yourself.
[The fear of criticism and taunting prevents his overall fears of water and massive crowds to fall so willingly from his lips.]
I like to...
[He ponders this for a while.]
I have no real hobbies, I suppose. Reading? It's actually a guilty pleasure of mine to go to volcanic sites and watch them erupt, all the while predicting which igneous rock will form.
My reason?
[Again, the unamused snarl returns to his face,]
My reason is none of your concern. To summarize, I am a trainer to achieve my goals.
Mandatory Angst:
[The question of his past angers him a bit.]
Breathe a word of this, and I will not hesitate to kill you where you stand.
I was born in Lavaridge, Hoenn, but you probably don't care about that. What's important is that I was born a bastard in the proper sense of the word; my father, Ramsay Rhynston, left pregnant Teirra, my mother, after her first 6 months. Their marriage was breaking down, and he needed to go abroad for work, and blahblahblah. I never heard the full story. Anyway, when I was four, we moved to Lilicove. After about five years, a group of pirates plundered and burned my house down and killed my mom while I was shopping for groceries. From that day on, I hated water and anything on or under it.
I attended Mt. Silver Geological Institute at the age of 9. Apparently, Ramsay had worked there for a bit, so my mum put it in her will to get me educated there. I was bumped up several grades after taking the aptitude test. In my sophomore year in college, when I was 14, I left, tired of the constant bullying and whatnot. Unfortunately, I was blamed for arson as well, when it was in fact my persecutors who did the deed. But whatever.
I ran for a year, until I came to Sinnoh.
I worked on Plate Tectonics, searching desperately for some type of sign to recreate Pangaea. Having no scientific evidence, I turned to myth, which brought me back to Hoenn.
Team Magma was formed when I had found enough people to support me.
[He refuses to say anything about those days on the run, being followed so relentlessly. As the authorities sent Mightyena on him, they failed to realize that one was pregnant. The runt of the litter, a little girl, was left to die on their trek for the accused arsonist.
Such irony it was that the little Poochyena was adopted by said refugee. Her name became Mei, and the two were inseparable ever since.]
Oh and by the way...
[He finishes his third cigarette of the session, then stares blankly at the questioner.]
If you have nothing more to say, get out of my sight.
I'm just a proxy for..
[The word 'proxy' is the straw that broke the Numel's back.]
I am no one's proxy! I am no pawn!
[He stands, cornering the interrogator, and holding the switchblade up to the man's jugular vein]
I'd prefer if things didn't get messy, but it seems I have no choice in the matter. You will obey every command I give, yes? Good. Now, you have two choices; I take your life, or cut out your tongue. No one shall know of what has happened here. Now, make your choice.
[Half of a minute after, the screaming was muted by the interrogator's own blood, never to make such a legible sound again.]
