Name

 

Vyne Gardens Willow S. Gallows

Meaning

 

Vyne Gardens

 

Parents were botanists gardening-obsessed freaks.

Willow S. Gallows

 

When he drove his little sister to suicide, she hanged herself on a willow tree in the park. When he left home shortly afterward because this incident kind of made his parents hate him, he took this on as a pseudonym, partially so it would be harder for his family to find them, and partly as a metaphorical punch to the face for them if they ever do.

Age

 

23 I'm 24 now, bitches!

Date of Birth

 

June 6, at exactly 6:06AM and 6.6 seconds.

Gender:

 

Female IT'S A TRAP!

Affiliation

 

Divine Arachnos

Rank

 

God Harbinger

Eyes

 

His real eye color is a secret, but he wears a different pair of colored contacts every day. As for anything else, he generally wears mascara to hide his eyelash color and make the fact that he's wearing a wig less obvious. His eyes also, quite deceptively, tend to do that big-and-sparkling-with-innocence thing, despite the fact that anyone who knows him or his work will know that "Willow" and "innocence" don't go together without the verb "destroy".

Hair

 

This changes every day. Wigs.

Skin

 

Pale, but he's got some scars under the makeup and fancy clothes.

Clothes

 

This also changes every day, but he does have a fondness for gloves and muted, solid colors. See the "Dramatis Personae" section under "Personality" for more details.

Physique

 

Willow likes to run track a lot, and he dabbles a bit in ballet. Anyone who screams "FAGGOT" at this point will be beaten to death with a pointe shoe.

Height

 

5'5"

Weight

 

I'm kinda scared to ask him to step on the scale, but I'd guess somewhere between 144 and 147 pounds, but that's because a lot of it is muscle. He probably looks more like he weighs 120-something pounds, if he's not wearing any padding on his hips or chest.

Other

 

Looks like a different woman every day.

Personality

 

Dramatis Personae

 

Spoiler: click to toggle

Willow S. Gallows

Behind the Mask

Willow might look and even sometimes act like a real sweetheart, but, underneath the sugary coating of smiles and sweet words is poison. Or thermite. Or poisonous thermite. Whatever way you toss it, he's an underhanded, backstabbing, baby-eating bastard with a god complex, and is deeply in love with himself. He's also prone to doling out disproportionate divine retribution when he feels wronged.

He's very calculating, and a smooth talker, but he's not exactly the best trainer -- he hasn't even actually bothered to look up the names of his Pokémon's attacks, for example, although he's usually consistent in his vague descriptions. Luckily, Alice and Pete have their own styles anyway, and coordinate epic improv with each other well, so Willow, consequently, ends up not totally sucking at battle. It's not like he usually has time for giving them orders anyway, since he likes to get in the thick of things. Meddling kids and their dogs tend to be a lot less annoying when they have a knife between their ribs. Just saying.

Jill the Ripper

Death on Two Legs

Jill dresses for murder. Blood is a real bitch to wash out of colors, so her clothes are all black. Her gloves are a combination of sheer black fabric ones under another pair of fingerless black leather ones, combining sturdiness with preserved tactile sensation while still obscuring fingerprints. Willow recently lost her black wig, which got burnt up in the chopper crash, and is in mourning for it.

Jill's pretty laid-back, for a career killer; although joking around isn't really her thing, she takes most small surprises in stride, and isn't actually that bad to work with. A lot of her statements are worded as rhetorical questions, often ending with things like "alright?" or "okay?", which might get on the nerves of some people. She tends to be pretty polite, most of the time, but is quite capable of stern, and even harsh criticism of others when she feels it's needed. Together with Cindy, Jill makes up the most violent portion of Willow's cast.

Cindy Timbers

Bouncy Ball of Pain

Cindy's not the sort of girl you'd expect to be arsonist, let alone a sadistic Torture Technician who keeps her tools-of-the-trade in a box at the back of her closet, labeled "Motivation". Most people who don't know her hobbies (i.e., burning things and making people scream in agony) would describe her as a gigglebox, and a bit of a ditz. Most people who have seen her doing what she does best would describe her as either a sane man's worst nightmare or an interrogator's wet dream; she gets... creative. I recommend looking away when she's using that long needle and the Bunsen Burner, by the way; she heats up the end so it's white hot, and then sticks it in her victim's eye. The outside layer of the eye melts to form a seal around the needle, while the eye jelly heats up and expands, until the eye just goes pop! Other favorite tools of hers include a blowtorch, and a nasty little contraption that helps peel off people's fingernails.

She enjoys Gothic Lolita fashion, but she'll put on thick gloves, a leather apron and/or a welding mask on top of that if it's necessary. She doesn't like to get blood on her clothes or in her hair, and she's a bit of a neat freak.

Caroline Dodson

Only Sane Woman

Caroline is, by far, the most "mundane" of Willow's personae. She's a quiet young woman with a serene, unflappable air around her, quite unlike the other personae. Caroline is the one Willow falls back on when he needs some downtime. Her skills are mundane, and cover such "girly" fields as sewing and fashion design. She often makes or alters disguises for use elsewhere in the Arachnos organisation, as well as making almost all of Willow's own outfits by hand.

Doctor S.

NOT SALLY!

Dr. S. doesn't much like the name Willow gave her ("Sally"), but she (claims) to have a doctorate in "Divine Retribution", and has proven to be quite capable with poisons, so she's taken the pseudonym of a pseudonym "Doctor S." instead.

Talents/Flaws

 

Excels at acting, sneaking, disguising himself, and running very fast. Good at dancing, climbing and walking in high heels. Okay at reading, using electronics, and not getting distracted by himself in a mirror. Bad at math, patience, Pokémon, and le Parkour, although he's trying to work on that last one. Horrible at trivia and all but the most basic of cooking. Incapable of giving empathy, sympathy, or even a damn to anyone but himself, although he can pretend in the short-term.

Likes

 

Himself, wigs, himself, makeup, himself, colored contacts, himself, running track, himself, ballet, himself, chocolate, himself, bathing, himself, the way long skirts do that fluttery thing when you spin around in them, himself, gloves, himself, power, himself, mirrors, himself, checking himself out in mirrors, himself, a good beer, himself, clothes, himself, theatre, himself, money, and himself, to name a few.

Dislikes

 

Useless people, useless things, dirt under his fingernails, useless people, washing out blood stains, locks he doesn't have keys to, having to walk uneven terrain in high heels, barbed wire, wide open fields, ketchup, underlings who can't do anything right, and lilies. He hates lilies. HATES them. Doesn't much like cops, either.

Character development

 

Also, as we've recently learned IC, he dislikes spiders.

Known Family

 

Lily Gardens
[Little Sister - Deceased]Ivy Gardens
[Mother - Estranged][?] Gardens
[Father - Estranged]

Dream

 

It's not so much a dream as it is an outlook on life: He's God, and all of creation exists to amuse him and/or be otherwise useful to him. Anything that does not meet this criterion is expendable at best, and needs smiting at worst.

Fighting Style

 

Prepare to die when you least expect it. This is your only warning.

Proficiency

 

Dominating

Biography

 

Willow's parents were botanists. Very, very obsessed botanists. They changed their surname to “Gardens”, and named their firstborn child “Vyne” and their second child “Lily”. Vyne was three when Lily was born, and that was when his parents should have noticed the first signs of something being wrong with their older child:

“Vyne, this is your sister, Lily,” his mother said, smiling as she knelt down to let the young boy see his new sibling. Vyne blinked once, and stared at the baby for several second before speaking.

“What's it good for?”

In Preschool and Kindergarten, his teachers posed their consistent worries to his parents, although none of them really suspected much more than a bit of delayed development.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gardens, I'm worried about your son.... He won't socialize with the other kids at all, and calls them 'useless' if they try talking to him. More often than not he refuses to participate in group activities, either, saying that 'they don't have a point'. Maybe you should have him see a counselor?”

Vyne didn't talk to the counselors, either. His parents hoped that it was just a phase that would pass, but as he grew older, his outlooks and behavior only increased in their seemingly thoughtless cruelty.

“MOMMY!”

“Lily, what's wrong?” their mother asked the crying toddler.

“I-I-I asked Vyne if I could have one of his cookies, but he said that I'm not important and should go away!” Lily wailed.

-

“Vyne! How could you say such mean things to your sister?” Mrs. Gardens admonished.

“You always tell us that we shouldn't lie,” was the reply, tone distant and light, as if he were making an off-hand comment on the previous day's incredibly bland weather. “She isn't useful to me. Should I lie about it?”

After that, the counselors got more insistent. Then, very suddenly, Vyne began to be nicer, to smile, to talk to people, to not call them unimportant or worthless or without use. His parents didn't know what had happened, but they were happy about it, thinking it meant that he was finally coming out of his “phase”.

Oh, how they were wrong.

Vyne had learned the fine art of tact, but little else socially desirable until middle school, where his parents were overjoyed to see him take up hobbies, and, even then, his supposed “hobbies” were merely means to a more useful end. He took drama to help himself get better at fooling people with his facial expressions and tone of voice. He took track, self-defense classes, and later dance to help himself better escape situations where all the tact and manipulation in the world wouldn't help (like when that one gang of bullies decided to push around the “girly boys” in the drama club, and talking to them was a supremely stupid idea). It was in Drama class, though, that he first discovered his passion for changing his appearance. He loved to wear wigs. It might well have been the first time he had ever felt something akin to love for anyone or anything save his own self-interest. By the time he graduated, he had amassed quite a collection of wigs, colored contacts, stage makeup and various costumes.

It was just as well, too.... He was about to be thrown into a world he had never dreamed existed, and that collection would save his life more than once before it was replaced.

Mrs. Gardens picked up the phone. “Hello? Gardens' residence. Ivy speaking.”

“Do you know anyone by the name of Lily?” a serious female voice on the other end asked.

“Yes... I'm her mother,” she responded, nervous about why the woman was asking, and in that tone. “Why? Did something happen? Please tell me she's alright!”

“I... I wish I could, Ma'am,” the woman said solemnly. “But... she... are you sitting down?”

Ivy almost collapsed into a nearby chair when she heard the words, dread overtaking her ability to stand as she realized that something was very, very wrong. “Y-y-yes...”

“Ma'am, I'm with the local police department,” the woman said slowly. “I called because your daughter was found hung in a willow tree near the park. We are pretty sure it was suicide; we found a note. It had this phone-number on it at the top of a list of people to call. If you could drop by the station sometime today or tomor--”

There was a thunk as Mrs. Gardens fainted and the phone clattered to the floor.

“Hello? Mrs. Gardens? Are you alright? Hello!”

-

The note told many things, and among them, it pinned Vyne as having been the one to finally push Lily over the edge.

'... If you need to blame someone for my death, then please, by all means blame Vyne. He tries to cover up his cruelty, but he's an evil, heartless monster, and if it weren't for him and his constant disdain for everyone around him, especially me, I might still be alive, and you would not be reading this note. I'll save you a spot in Hell, Vyne.

'-Lily'

Needless to say, Vyne's parents, who had already been uneasy about him for the longest time due to the occasional times when he didn't bother to pretend to be nice at home, barely wasted a second in laying all the blame on him, and treating him like the monster that Lily's note proclaimed him – perhaps quite accurately – to be. He packed his backpack with a couple changes of clothes, a hairbrush, his favorite three disguises, a few days' worth of non-perishable foods like beef jerky and trail mix, a hunting knife that he had rudimentary knowledge of the use of, and all the money he could scrounge up around the house (it never mattered to him whether it was from his own now-shattered piggy bank or from his father's emergency stash of (poorly-hidden) $20 bills, and it mattered least of all now). Then, without a word, he left the house behind.

He would need a new name, though, to avoid the inevitable “Missing Person” report that would be issued whether his parents wanted it to be or not. He thought a bit, and finally decided on one that would, on the off-chance he was ever found and returned home (unlikely, now that his eighteenth birthday was in less than a month), spite his now supremely useless parents, and his sister who had caused their uselessness.

Vyne walked into the public unisex restroom of the gas station. He changed his clothes to a more feminine outfit, – he hadn't brought any dresses with him, nor had he grown out his hair much past chin-length at that time, so the skinny jeans and long wig would have to do for now – packed up the clothes he'd run away in, and applied a little eyeliner.

Fifteen seconds later, the bathroom door opened and out walked Willow S. Gallows.

“S” standing for “Suicide”, of course. He's saving that shocker for when/if he ever has the misfortune of bumping into his parents again, though. He tells everyone else that it's an initial and “doesn't stand for anything important”.

He managed to hitchhike his way over to Vermillion City from his hometown in Olivine. A few idiots who thought that they could get paid with something... more intimate than fake gratitude and a false smile ended up with Willow's knife driven into the base of their skull, and their corpses looted for all they were worth. Willow was always sure to wear an all-black outfit when traveling like this.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, depending on one's point of view), the last “idiot”, who happened to be the one to get him actually into the city, wasn't so stupid, and when Willow pulled a knife upon being dragged into a warehouse, countered with a switchblade of his own. They fought it out for almost a minute, and Willow managed to deliver a good gash below the left eye before being disarmed and wrestled to the ground. During his journey to the concrete floor, his wig slipped off, revealing his short, relatively boyish haircut of the time, and his assailant noticed that he had... too little in the chest area and too much further down to possibly be female.

“What's a boy like you doing hitch-hiking to Vermillion dressed like a girl?” the man asked, firmly pinning the blonde's wrists above his head with one hand. “Are you trying to get in trouble?”

Willow squirmed a little, not at all comfortable with having what was probably about twice his own body weight pinning him to the ground, or with having his wrists in that position, or with having the man propping himself up with his other forearm pressed on his chest, although he was thankful for the latter fact's convenience of putting about a foot more distance between his and his assailant's faces. “Actually the opposite, although 'trouble', as you put it, appears to reap some monetary benefits on the side. If my parents bothered to report me missing, the police will be looking for a boy with blonde hair and green eyes with my height and build; they won't give a girl with black hair and blue eyes a second glance, height and build or no. And I don't want to go back home.”

The man blinked, squinting at his face. “Green eyes...?”

“Colored contacts,” Willow explained tersely, looking the man in the eye but continuing to fruitlessly attempt to free his hands. He was determined not to let fear show on his face, but he wasn't going to just docilely accept what was happening, either. “Now, are you going to just get this over with, or can I go now? This floor isn't the most comfortable place in the world, just so you know.”

The man chuckled. “I don't swing that way, kid, so you can stop that squirming. I like your attitude, though. How'd you like it if I introduced you to my gang?”

Willow narrowed his eyes. “Define 'introduce'.”

The man blinked a moment before chuckling more. “Alright, I know how that sounded, but I mean that you could make a good gangster if your skills were polished up around the edges. Not too many kids your age would last as long as you did in a knife fight with me. What do you say?”

Willow considered for a moment. That arm on his chest was rather restrictive on his ribcage, and thus his lungs. “Well, I'd be more inclined to go with you if you would please let me up first. It's rather hard to breathe when you're leaning on my chest.”

The gangster did not seem to find this unreasonable, and, after a couple seconds, rolled off of him and got to his feet. While Willow got to his feet, coughing a little as his lungs adjusted to being able to breathe properly again, the man walked over to where the blonde's knife had fallen, picking up up and putting it back in it's sheath, which Willow most certainly did not remember dropping.

“How did you...?” he started, picking up his wig and putting it back on. The gangster smiled.

“Picked your pocket,” was the off-handed reply. “So, anyway, I go by the name of Pete. You got a name you like, or do I get to keep calling you 'kid'?”

And so began Willow's journey into the ugly side of city life. He liked it quite a bit, really. He was able to stock up on more and better disguises as time went on, and those disguises helped him avoid arrest: The police would no sooner start looking for a suspect of one physical description, than that ensemble would simply drop off the map. It was also very, very fun; getting to deal drugs, do hits, smuggle firearms and otherwise take advantage of others for his own gain, and getting to dress up while he did it, was a great pleasure for Willow, and he would have stuck around there for a long time, if a series of well-informed police raids hadn't put the organization he was in on the rocks. It was about this same time that he got approached with an offer to join Team Rocket. Never having had any true loyalty but to himself, he carefully packed away his favorite outfits, wigs, contacts and makeup in a suitcase with the small amount of cash he had on hand at the time -- he wasn't going to risk staying in town any longer than he had to -- and skipped town He somehow managed to get his hands on a couple of worshipers along the way, but that's a long story, and you probably aren't even reading this anymore, so I'm not even going to fucking bother, since you can go dig through the public archives or something if you REALLY want to know. One thing led to another -- "one thing" actually being several things and including the word "blackmail", and "another" being "promotions" -- and Willow found himself with a slightly-cushy administrative job, although he does much prefer fieldwork to paper-pushing. He has recently accepted a transfer to the Arachnos group as it prepares to stake a claim on Althea.

If only he knew what he was getting into....

Species

 

Nidoran

Gender

 

Male

Total XP

 

40

Statistics

 

HP
20Attack
6Defense
3Special Attack
0Special Defense
0Agility
16

Moves

 

Double KickFocus EnergyLeerPeckPoison Jab

Abilities

 

Poison Point

 

If an opponent directly attacks this Pokemon, there is a 30% chance that the opponent will become poisoned.

Rivalry

 

Increases base power of Physical and Special attacks by 25% if the opponent is the same gender, but decreases base power by 25% if opponent is the opposite gender.

Extra Information

 

Names

 

Birth Name: Mauve Needles
Chosen Name: ZOOOM!
To Willow: Pete
To Alice: Zip

Held Item

 

Dime

Worth 10 cents.

Species

 

Misdreavus

Gender

 

Female

Total XP

 

40

Statistics

 

HP
15Attack
0Defense
2Special Attack
7Special Defense
6Agility
5

Moves

 

GrowlNewton's Second LawPain SplitPsybeamPsywaveShadow BallSpiteToxic

Ability

 

Levitate

 

This Pokemon is immune to Ground-type attacks, Spikes and the Arena Trap ability; it loses these immunities after using Ingrain.

Extra Information

 

Names

 

Birth Name: Lxocke Xkexye Vxexxndetxta Ravxenwaye Nxightzexphyr Belladonnax Inxkxwxellx Doomxydoomsvondoom Singxhell Nxightzexphyr Howling
((NOTE: the "x"es are silent. Read it as if it said "Locke Keye Vendetta Ravenwaye Nightzephyr Belladonna Inkwell Doomydoomsvondoom Singhell Nightzephyr Howling"))
Chosen Name: Locke
To Willow: Alice
To Pete: Locke
To Judith: Lady Nibbles

Held Item

 

None