SHAPE IT !

   pronouns.   He/Him.

   preference of communication.   Discord is most preferable. Also just the easiest way to contact me, since Tumblr IMs don’t always notify me. Discord is always open for mutuals!

   rp experience / how long.   I started rping on Neopets prior to being 10 years old. I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember. I started rping on tumblr at about the 2013 point, when the Skyrim / Elder Scrolls rpc was at its peak. Since then, I’ve kinda hopped and skipped around various fandoms and rpc spaces, but Pokémon is something I’ll always come back to. <3

   best experience.   As much as the Elder Scrolls rpc was a wild ride, and as much as there were a plethora of shitty experiences muddled between, it has been one of my favourite experiences of rp. It strived for so long, and I made so many friendships back then. Most of those friendships have since fizzled, but the matter was I felt like I was part of a collective group back then, rather than an individual scrambling for acknowledgement. It also helped that the Elder Scrolls rpc was about. 95% OCs lmfao. I love OCs to bits y’all!

   name of muse(s).   This fella is Scout, but I’ve also got two other active Pokémon OCs to spice up the mix. There’s Gilderoy (  @disobeys  ), a weird, kinda maybe insane ex-director of the Academy who is definitely older than he should be; and there’s also Antonio (  @abstrused  ), a bastard man who works as something of a MC of the Amphitheatre, an international criminal, underground organisation that pits Pokémon and humans against each other in a fighting ring.

   fluff, angst, or smut.   All three!

   While, admittedly, angst is something I have to be in a specific mood to write nowadays, I enjoy all three of these. Smut is the one I’ve rped the least on tumblr, and is usually written on Discord, but I wouldn’t might a change of pace regarding this tbh.

   Also, slice of life? Chef’s kiss.

   long or short replies.   Anyone who knows me knows I love a good word spew lmao. I generally struggle with succinct, snappy replies. I prefer something far more long-winded, which I know might repel some people, but I just Love Giving Y’all Too Many Words.

   best time to write.   Whenever the mood hits! Normally this is in the afternoon or evening, but recently I’ve been waking up at the crack of dawn and writing so like. What Do I Know!

He wasn’t really informed that the academy was holding some kind of special event, so, leaving his lodgings to find the campus completely crowded somewhat surprised him, but Lorenz was happy nonetheless, hearing he could take the day off and still get paid.

He took some time to have a look at the various exhibits the academy’s alumni brought with them. The more specific science and economics stuff, he cared very little for. But those that had to do with the field of cuisine and battling, he could get behind. A surprising amount of the people he encountered weren’t even Paldean, and it was a pleasure to get to chat with a few of the guests in his native tongue.

He was passing in front of the breeding exhibits to leave the building when he felt something stir underneath him. Glancing down, Lorenz noticed his shadow, which showed long ears he certainly did not have, was shifting around in an unnatural way. And looking behind him, he soon understood why, as a red Gengar seemed intrigued by him, or more exactly, by his invisible companion.

Wait, a red Gengar? Was it a shiny? No, no, he’d already seen a shiny Gengar. They had a silvery gleam to their dark fur, instead of the usual purple reflections. Could it be some kind of regional form? Well, whatever it was, he figured he would find out soon enough, as the wine-colored Ghost’s trainer arrived running after her, seemingly out of breath.

Hehe. The joys of raising Ghosts.

“Sorry, I believe I got something that caught your little one’s attention.” He said with a little smile. “Spec, come say hello. I know you want to.“

He tapped with his heel over his shadow. The oversized ears over the shape of his head faded away, as a stubby dark furred armed rose from the ground. Soon, Lorenz’s own Gengar, one noticeably smaller than Merlot, was pulling himself away from his trainer, greeting that strangely colored cousin of his with an intrigued little coo.

Lorenz turned toward the human accompanying her, who himself seemed to match his Pokémon with his own unusual pigmentation. He’d seen plenty of people with vitiligo before, but never one whose discolored patches extended to their hair. Surely that was one of the alumni who participated to the breeding exhibit.

“Merlot’s her name, right? Have you been raising her since she was a Gastly? Don’t think I’ve ever seen this color on a Ghost-type before.”

“You sure have!” he grinned and he wheezed, taking a moment to catch his breath. Once he felt like he wouldn’t upset sideways in an ungainly heap, he straightened his back and smiled—albeit more pleasantly than the strained positivity that enriched his skin moments earlier. Merlot giggled, seemingly pleased by her antics, but especially intrigued by the smaller, stouter gengar that emerged from the other’s shadow. Her eyes widened, as did her grin, and she twinkled her fingers in what could only be assumed to be a wave of sorts.

She reached out, hoping to touch the very tip of their pointed digits together.

“Yes! Merlot! And, well—hah—I had a bit of help in the raising department, but …” Scout gestured behind him, over the oscillating wave of bobbing heads and hair, “that’s what my exhibit is for, really. I specialise in the manner in which pokémon get their colour, and I show how it can altered. Ghost-types have been a bit of a plague on my work because they’re so—unique in comparison to most other types. They usually have a restricted colour palette consisting of purples and blacks and navies and traditionally show a bit of a resistance to colour changes that’re beyond the temporary.”

As Scout gave a succinct ramble, an oxymoron in a way—someone approached from behind.

Hari. Hari. Hari.

Hari. Hari. Hari.

The definitively loud thumps of approaching footfalls were as audible as they were tangible. The crowd was split in twain as the hulking mass of a tall, bulging Hariyama pushed her way through. She eyed off the new human with suspicion, though seemed relieved that nothing ill had transpired between the duo.

Again, alternate colourations. Hers were a range of creams, to reds, to browns.

“Oh, I’m alright, Lizzy! Thanks for checking, though.”

It wasn’t the first time Scout had been invited back to the Academy. In their biannual event of hey, let’s bring back some of our more fruitful and interesting characters that just happen to be former students to encourage contemporary students to strive harder, Scout found himself traversing the Academy halls once again.

It was one of their busiest times of year. Crowds flowed through. Former students and current students alike, interested parties, future hopefuls, all met in a thick though awkward melange of bodies and chatter. The weather was warm and balmy; the accumulation of people indoors, however, saw temperatures kiss uncomfortable. Air-conditioning sputtered and struggled to keep most pleased.

So, throngs split away from the inner halls, departing to the relative comfort of the outdoors.

Outdoors was where Scout’s exhibit was located. No pokémon in the foyer or classes or halls, they’d asserted during his lodging. Looks like that rule still stood firm. So, outside he was, with his little collection of critters. Crowds had gathered; they were less interested in the scientist himself, rather vocally marvelling at the fruits of his work: alternatively pigmented pokémon. Shiny pokémon were, while rather documented, very rare in the wild. Prized, longed for by the likes of collectors or those with specific colour biases, many had sought to get their hands on such creatures by reaching out to businesses that artificially created environments to increase supposed likelihoods.

Of course, some so-called businesses were scams, and many pop-up breeders claiming to offer 100% chance of getting a specific shiny pokémon were swindling con-artists hoping to get a quick and thick pouch of coin before fleeing back into obscurity. Scout had encountered many individuals who were subject to such scams and eyed him off with caution and sharp tongues.

These were different from naturally occurring shinies. That he knew. Some people even right here, today, leered him with a cutting sense of distrust. He smiled despite the anxiety that brewed and bubbled in the pit of his gut.

He had a few of latest revelations on display. One of them, a vivid though burgundy coloured Gengar, sat impatiently on the small, makeshift stage. Her gaze swept across the audience that ogled at her. While some of Scout’s other creations were happy to sit back and listen while Scout rambled on to groups and individuals, she was not.

She found something that did catch her interest, however.

Rather than wait for permission, she leapt to her stubby feet and darted away. Scout looked once, twice as soon as he caught her big form scuttling off to the side. A blink before a wash of panic doused him.

“Oh—man, oh buddy, come back! Sorry, everyone, I just, hah, give me a quick moment—”

Gods, was she quick.

She’d pushed through the likes of many, sliding betwixt, or otherwise fading through if they proved too dense to shove herself between. When she happened upon the man that’d caught her attention that minute ago, she came to a skidded stop in front of his person, grinning big and wide much like her eyes. A giggle, a laugh, and she jumped about. Excitement brimmed.

FULL NAME.      Scout Sawyer Scotsman. He’s most used to being called Scout or Scotty, a shortened variation of his familial name.

AGE.       28.

ETHNICITY.       Of mixed Alolan and Galarian heritage. Currently located in Paldea; will occasionally travel outside of this region.

PRONOUNS + GENDER.       He/him. He’s a trans man. Due to various issues, he can’t wear a binder for long, so he tends to just wear a bra. No point, he thinks, in flipping from chest to no chest; rather, he’d be comfortable and not in pain.

SEXUALITY.       He’s not quite sure, as of current. While he finds himself leaning more so towards masculine individuals, that doesn’t mean feminine or androgynous individuals can’t capture his attention either. He doesn’t want to label himself though he does find labels, in a way, comforting. A way of succinctly relating to a collective experience.

HEIGHT.       6′4. He’s rather tall; the tallest of his family, even.

FAMILY.       Charmaine Scotsman ( mother );  Jimmy Scotsman ( father );  Violet Scotsman ( older sister ).

PROFESSION.       He used to work in the hustle and bustle of a local café. This, however, left his little time nor energy towards his true passions: biological pigmentation. So, rather than continue to make baby steps, he took a leap; he resigned from his position as an all-rounder and started up a small breeding business, hoping to make a living out of his passion. All was well until unpleasant customers, of the criminal and violent kind, began cropping up.