Post by Antimoany on Aug 8, 2020 1:28:43 GMT
Name: Yahib Wright
Age: 22
Gender:
(non-binary, they/them)
Hometown: Port Belleview
Appearance: Seeming at first to be a large pile of masks that someone left lying around, this odd trainer is in fact wearing dozens of masks - and not just on their head. Strapped firmly into place all over their body is every kind of mask. Many resemble pokémon, with varying adherence to reality, but a few appear to be variations upon theatre masks bearing a human resemblance. Yet others seem to represent mythological figures and fictional characters.
While their right hand is often slotted into a split "mask" that's really more like a sockpuppet (typically a Trapinch), their left hand is free, if gloved. Atop their head towers a veritable crown of masks, and one wonders how they're supported. The masks on the back of their head can make it difficult to tell which way they're facing if one doesn't pay attention to foot position.
Probably about 160cm tall, based on chin position (the only part of their face that's ever visible), Yahib seems to wear a plain grey bodysuit beneath the masks.
Personality: Exhuberant and flamboyant, Yahib doesn't so much wear their heart on their sleeve as wear it...well, everywhere. They love making masks, and refuse to let a little thing like a resource shortage slow them down. They cobble together masks out of whatever material they can get their hands on, often including literal trash. They refuse to be anything but proud of their work, even when what they create isn't up their own high standards.
Yahib sells their masks for as little as they can get away with, but it's always a bittersweet moment. They get attached to their creations and it can be painful to let them go, but nothing lights up their face (well, probably - you can practically hear the ear-to-ear grin) like seeing someone else happy because of something they made.
They insist that they're going to inspire Belleview to love art again, and to create again. They like to think it's working.
History: It's easy to get lost in the despair of a region-wide resource shortage, to feel new lows every time a once-beautiful building suffers an ugly repair job because keeping the roof up is already too expensive. Easy to live in a haze of eating without tasting, working without thinking, and sleeping because there's nothing else to do.
Yahib refused. Watching their family and friends decay into a kind of uniform listlessness did not drag them down. It spurred them to action. Their exhuberance proved a shockingly easy falsity; their flamboyance an act that swiftly become second-nature.
They're not sure when pretend became real. They try not to dwell on it. That's one of the rules they made for themself, now so thoroughly internalised they give it out as advice. If a subject is too upsetting, think about something else, something better.
And it worked. All their hard work, not just on their craft, but on themself and to a greater extent others. The town held a festival. Not in celebration of anything in particular, just a festival. A party, in the streets, for anyone to join. They weren't sure who started it, or whose idea it was. Maybe it was better that way. It was just something everyone, all together, decided they wanted. Needed.
Yahib found themself with a very tough custom job: A full dancing dragon costume. It took a month. They very nearly didn't make the deadline. In Yahib's opinion, it was shoddy. But they didn't say that. They spoke only of how great it was, how the scales shone in the sunlight, how freely it flowed, how proud they were of those long streamers. And everyone loved it.
In payment, they were given the rarest and most precious gift of all: A pokéball, its exact contents lost to time.
They wanted to politely refuse, but couldn't figure out how. No-one would give away something like this without being absolutely certain.
Yahib had mythologised and reproduced pokémon as masks and costumes since they were barely double-digits, so of course when they finally made a return to Deprin, Yahim rushed to their ball – and hesitated.
The return was slow and erratic. It was just as mysterious as the initial disappearance of pokémon nearly a century ago. What evidence did they have that they wouldn't all disappear again soon enough? Could Yahib handle that? Releasing whatever was in this ball, and being personally responsible for the death of a living creature – and something as rare and remarkable as a pokémon, at that!
...No.
It wouldn't do to dwell. Pokémon were returning! They were living, thriving! This was a good thing! This was a sign of a return of magic to the region, surely? Nothing bad would happen. Yahib wouldn't let anything bad happen. They'd been entrusted with the guardianship of this wonderful creature, and they were going to treat it right.
Starting with letting it breathe fresh air for the first time in 83 years.
Age: 22
Gender:
(non-binary, they/them)Hometown: Port Belleview
Appearance: Seeming at first to be a large pile of masks that someone left lying around, this odd trainer is in fact wearing dozens of masks - and not just on their head. Strapped firmly into place all over their body is every kind of mask. Many resemble pokémon, with varying adherence to reality, but a few appear to be variations upon theatre masks bearing a human resemblance. Yet others seem to represent mythological figures and fictional characters.
While their right hand is often slotted into a split "mask" that's really more like a sockpuppet (typically a Trapinch), their left hand is free, if gloved. Atop their head towers a veritable crown of masks, and one wonders how they're supported. The masks on the back of their head can make it difficult to tell which way they're facing if one doesn't pay attention to foot position.
Probably about 160cm tall, based on chin position (the only part of their face that's ever visible), Yahib seems to wear a plain grey bodysuit beneath the masks.
Personality: Exhuberant and flamboyant, Yahib doesn't so much wear their heart on their sleeve as wear it...well, everywhere. They love making masks, and refuse to let a little thing like a resource shortage slow them down. They cobble together masks out of whatever material they can get their hands on, often including literal trash. They refuse to be anything but proud of their work, even when what they create isn't up their own high standards.
Yahib sells their masks for as little as they can get away with, but it's always a bittersweet moment. They get attached to their creations and it can be painful to let them go, but nothing lights up their face (well, probably - you can practically hear the ear-to-ear grin) like seeing someone else happy because of something they made.
They insist that they're going to inspire Belleview to love art again, and to create again. They like to think it's working.
History: It's easy to get lost in the despair of a region-wide resource shortage, to feel new lows every time a once-beautiful building suffers an ugly repair job because keeping the roof up is already too expensive. Easy to live in a haze of eating without tasting, working without thinking, and sleeping because there's nothing else to do.
Yahib refused. Watching their family and friends decay into a kind of uniform listlessness did not drag them down. It spurred them to action. Their exhuberance proved a shockingly easy falsity; their flamboyance an act that swiftly become second-nature.
They're not sure when pretend became real. They try not to dwell on it. That's one of the rules they made for themself, now so thoroughly internalised they give it out as advice. If a subject is too upsetting, think about something else, something better.
And it worked. All their hard work, not just on their craft, but on themself and to a greater extent others. The town held a festival. Not in celebration of anything in particular, just a festival. A party, in the streets, for anyone to join. They weren't sure who started it, or whose idea it was. Maybe it was better that way. It was just something everyone, all together, decided they wanted. Needed.
Yahib found themself with a very tough custom job: A full dancing dragon costume. It took a month. They very nearly didn't make the deadline. In Yahib's opinion, it was shoddy. But they didn't say that. They spoke only of how great it was, how the scales shone in the sunlight, how freely it flowed, how proud they were of those long streamers. And everyone loved it.
In payment, they were given the rarest and most precious gift of all: A pokéball, its exact contents lost to time.
They wanted to politely refuse, but couldn't figure out how. No-one would give away something like this without being absolutely certain.
Yahib had mythologised and reproduced pokémon as masks and costumes since they were barely double-digits, so of course when they finally made a return to Deprin, Yahim rushed to their ball – and hesitated.
The return was slow and erratic. It was just as mysterious as the initial disappearance of pokémon nearly a century ago. What evidence did they have that they wouldn't all disappear again soon enough? Could Yahib handle that? Releasing whatever was in this ball, and being personally responsible for the death of a living creature – and something as rare and remarkable as a pokémon, at that!
...No.
It wouldn't do to dwell. Pokémon were returning! They were living, thriving! This was a good thing! This was a sign of a return of magic to the region, surely? Nothing bad would happen. Yahib wouldn't let anything bad happen. They'd been entrusted with the guardianship of this wonderful creature, and they were going to treat it right.
Starting with letting it breathe fresh air for the first time in 83 years.
