Name: Alani White.
Meaning: Alani is Hawaiian for 'orange tree or fruit.'
Age: Twenty-seven.
Date of Birth: June 22.
Gender: Female.
Affiliation: Arachnos Elite.

Eyes: Pale green, almond-shaped island eyes stand out against her tanned complexion, usually devoid of emotion or careless - it's hard to tell if she gives a fuck or not most of the time. There is no denying they're the sort of eyes that look down upon your dying form without a flicker of anything, perhaps fascinated, as though watching your life slip away isn't very interesting but there's nothing else to focus on. Demeaning, almost, the way she looks down her nose at people, making them feel like... well, nothing at all.
Hair: Dark cool brown, Alani wears it cut short in a convenient pixie cut, flipped out just over her shoulders. She used to wear it longer, but found that it got in the way and even a pony-tail couldn't forestall someone from grabbing it. The fewer risks she can take, the better, and she's worn it short ever since.
Skin: Her skin is a deep islander native tan, almost olive in complexion. It's the perfect bronze shade that mainlanders spray themselves to achieve and would die to buy in a bottle, but for her it's all natural. Smooth everywhere she exposes it, all of her scars are kept quietly hidden - why do you think she really wears those bangles on her right arm? As a fashion statement? There was a run-in with the sharp end of a dirk a few years ago, luckily it just grazed the skin but the scar will be on the back of her wrist for a while to come yet.
Clothes: Alani favors black and functionally stylish - as mentioned, she dislikes risks. She doesn't own anything that can be used against her - frivolous frills and handholds are avoided while sleek lines and shorter or more fitting garments both show off her form and keep assailants from finding a hold anywhere there doesn't need to be. She usually accentuates her already streamlined look with jackets: if she is grabbed, she can slip out of it and leave them holding nothing but fabric. About the only thing she wears that is unnecessary are her heels - at LEAST three inches - and occasionally tights just for looks. She figures she's pretty good at her job, so why not look good while doing it? Even so, most of her heels are boots for protection, and fashionably black.
Physique: The best way to describe her figure is by drooling. She keeps herself more than fit, she's honed to a 'tee' from her years of experience and her active job life. She works out in the mornings to warm up, so her muscle mass is lean but exceptionally functional. Oh, and she's got a curve or two in there. She may not have full seating upstairs, but she's got a nice view from below.
Height: Five-foot nine-inches, quite respectable for a lady. That's in bare feet, so with tall heels she can approach six-foot, and she uses every inch to her advantage mentally: the more imposing she can make herself the less likely someone will select her as a target. Let's just say she doesn't have to worry when walking to her car at night.
Weight I can't see why this would be of any import. If you must know she's somewhere between a single potato and a bus.
Other: None.

Personality: Having been raised as an islands girl, Alani is likely one of the least stressed members of Team Rocket that has ever graced the organization. Relaxed and laid-back, her initial commander accurately quipped that "If you were any calmer I'm pretty sure your heart would stop." Now, whether he meant literally of its own accord or whether that was a threat hasn't been fully analyzed, but either way the young Ms. White is still around and surviving amidst a pack of thieves and murderers. Down to earth isn't usually a trait that is valued in the organization, but at the same time it balances her so that she doesn't commit to the same mistake as so many of her predecessors - her grounding is what keeps her from going mad in an organization driven by its insanity. She separates her emotions from her working self, and sometimes bottles things up to be vented off later. Being the oldest of five children, she is quite used to being around others who are running on empty upstairs; she basically raised her younger brothers while her mother spent her days in a pain-killer induced intoxication.

In professional company or 'on the job' she is generally reserved and calm - there is a deep part of her that believes all chances will come around again, and so there is less pressure even with superiors breathing down her neck. That isn't to say that Alani doesn't care, however: she just weighs things differently and has slightly different priorities. On missions, she is all business. She takes things very seriously, and can become reticent while in groups to help other people focus. There is little she will not do in the line of 'duty,' and little she hasn't. One of her few ties to her origins are that she will try not to hurt any more locals than are absolutely necessary. Since she was raised on a neighboring island, she shares many things in common with the locals - which on one hand helps her blend in, but on the other means she treads carefully. She will do what is ordered of her, but she feels that more precise and decisive strikes are more effective than mass-hysteria caused by sloppiness.

In person off the 'clock,' she is just as laid-back as always, without the focus on an end-point in her actions. She can be slightly aimless, although still mostly collected, grateful to just relax from the stress of her involvement with Team Rocket. Of course, there is little actual chance to put her feet up, but when she can she savors every second of her break from command. Alani's general disposition is quietly cheerful, although at times she expects the worst. She keeps her cynicism to herself in her free time, but while working she slips it into view to keep others in line. Her posture is almost painfully straight, her movements full of the learned grace that comes with age. Her voice can be best characterized by the terms 'smoky' and 'low' - it's almost as if she cannot be bothered to speak above a certain volume, although that only makes it that much more intimidating when she does raise her voice. It usually comes as a surprise when she breaks her composure to shout, throw things or kill people - a bit out of left field because she generally doesn't give much indication of when she's about to snap

Talents/Flaws: Alani can take things for granted far too often - she believes things will happen one way or another, and so other people tend to view this as a lack of respect for authority when she lets something slip away. At the same time, it is part of the reason she was made an Elite - she has a different outlook and priorities, so there are times when her unconventional means get things done in a more apt way than originally intended. That's not to say she never fails: she's actually on the brink of being demoted back to a Grunt after fucking up a kidnapping: the target was killed in conflict along with her partner on the mission, and a civilian victim brought more attention to the activities than was enjoyed by her superiors. Complaining about free publicity? For shame. She also happens to have a slight communication problem - she generally doesn't. She's a free wheeler, operating without taking the time to communicate with the boss as much as she should... On the other hand, Alani has a knack for thinking outside of the box and can sometimes achieve what the others can't through brute force - she's more pliable in what she is willing to do in order to assure success for the organization. She is good at organizing people, although people usually don't listen to her if she tries to take it the next step into 'leading.' Unless she has a gun pointed to their head. She's good with guns - pistols mostly, although she's trying to pick up shotgun skills for obvious reasons. Mostly because they're sexy. Also, for some reason or another she's talented with mechanics. Auto mechanics. Her car looks like a piece of shit but she's made so many modifications that she practically gets 50 mi/gallon, not to mention it can probably out speed any of the imports on the island.

Likes: The islands are her home, and everything from the familiar smell of damp rot to the barbaric ways of her ancestors is dear to her heart. She enjoys taking people by surprise, especially team mates who underestimate her because of her lax personality; being given the FUN missions that have been failed by other assigned crews; not being in charge and being in charge. She also enjoys long walks on the beach, puppies and the flavor of limes. Her car.

Dislikes: She is prideful for her islands, and so she can sometimes take a disliking to outsiders that isn't always rational. She dislikes harming any more of the natives than necessary, although tourists and others are no-holds-barred. She has an inherent distrust of medication (thanks, mom!) and associated medical treatment, preferring to nurse her wounds herself. For reasons it is best not to specify, she also has a deep loathing hatred of overly cute Pokémon.

Known Family: Manuia (Father, deceased: boating accident when Alani was 6) || Kalia (Mother, deceased: OD when Alani was 17) || Likeke (Brother, age 24) || Mika'ele (Brother, age 22) || Pali (Brother, age 17)

Dream: Alani wants nothing more than to survive from day to day. In the long run, she might have some ideas for what she would do with power, but either she is so quiet about chasing it that no one has noticed or she just... doesn't want it at all. She wants to be good at what she does, and generally she is.

Fighting Style: Alani is a very reactive power player - she will wait an entire battle or fight laying off until she finds the one strike that will end it all swiftly. With her Pokémon, she has trained them to have stamina so they can dodge and tire out the other Pokémon between launching their own attacks. She relies on tactics and timing more than sheer force, and tries to conserve as much energy as she can in case something expected is lurking just around the corner. In close combat she utilizes a knife and mace, the former for slashing and the latter for her own version of sand attack plus stinging herpes eye-death. She also utilizes her environment both in combat and in battle - any object in the vicinity can become a prop, weapon or defensive item if used properly. Possibly as more than one once it's destroyed in the process. Her Pokémon may not be as free-thinking as she is, but they are taught to be competently swift and at least somewhat independent so that they can gain an advantage - they have been trained to obey her only when she gives them certain vocal or physical signals so that opponents do not have nearly as good an idea of what is about to happen as they think.

Proficiency: Dominating

Biography: Later.

“LET ME PLAY THE FOOL!” announced Victor Borkowski, leaning dramatically forward with a mocking expression on his face. “With mirth, and laughter, let old wrinkles come. And let my liver rather heat with wine than my heart cool with mortifying groans…”

He curled his lip in a sneer, taking a step forward and straightening his back with an exaggerated swagger. The lighting of the unfamiliar stage beat down upon his slim green form, casting a strong contrast against the black of the stage itself. He advanced past the proscenium arch, turning as though addressing a good friend painstakingly.

“Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, sit like his grandsire - cut in alabaster? Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaundice by being peevish?” he gestured grandly, his eyes rolling as he continued to speak to the implied person standing just upstage of himself. He swaggered slightly toward the spot where the other actor should have been, turning his head to ‘follow’ the movement as his advance was counter-crossed, leading with his hips as only Gratiano could possibly have mastered.

Taking on a more appeasing expression, he gestured with the partly-empty wine bottle, speaking compassionately, but patronizingly, “I tell thee what, Antonio - I love thee, and it is my love that speaks - There are a sort of men whose visages do cream and mantle like a standing pond…”

He stiffened in exaggeration, his shoulders squaring as though the stuffiest of stuffed shirts had taken his place as he continued in an even more aggrandized and mocking tone of voice “…and do a willful stillness entertain - with purpose to be dress'd in an opinion of wisdom, gravity, PROFOUND CONCEIT!”

He paused, taking a mimed-swig of the bottle and furrowing his brow as though deep in thought. He sneered suddenly before going on, breaking from the stiff stance and indolently spreading his arms in a sort of sarcastic shrug.

“As who should say, ‘I AM SIR ORACLE! AND WHEN I OPE MY LIPS LET NO DOG BARK!’”

Vic went back into his compassionate tone, looking concerned and leaning forward as he once again began to approach his unseen scene-partner, “Oh, my Antonio – I do know of these that therefore only are REPUTED wise for saying nothing, when I am very sure, would almost damn those ears which hearing them would call their brothers fools!” His voice moved toward an emphatic crescendo as though his point was made before shaking his head, as though abandoning the cause and the case of his friend.

“I’ll tell ye more of this another time, but fish not with this melancholy bait - for this fool gudgeon, this opinion. Come, good Lorenzo – I’ll end my exhortation after dinner,” he concluded, swaggering off stage left.

Victor nearly broke down into a panic attack as a small smattering of applause marked the judges’ approval. The sound of whispering was audible from backstage as they considered the piece and his performance.

It was almost five minutes later when they called for the reptilian actor and the others from the round, their faces grave as he emerged onto the apron and stood politely, adjusting his colorful outfit. A bright red, orange, blue and lime green Hawaiian shirt seemed like a good idea at the time for the foolish character… although he was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of wearing such ridiculously boring khaki shorts with it. It was meant to come across as casual and fun, the essence of Gratiano, his character, but…

“Mr. Borkowski,” began the judge on the far left of the panel, in a professionally clipped and serious tone of voice. He was first? He began to panic, his attention snapping to the older man. He couldn’t help but restrain a nervous smile at the emphasis the man put on staring at his verdant skin. The man pushed his wire-frame glasses up on his stubby nose, clearing his throat as he examined his notes. “It has been duly considered by the representatives of the panel, and we shall inform you of our verdict as soon as we have reached an agreement. Thank you for a very… innovative rendition. I do believe that the Merchant of Venice is rarely so... engaging. You are free to leave.”

What? That couldn’t be right. Results were supposed to be delivered immediately, as he understood it… But the tone seemed to bear no time for arguing the point. How embarrassing, to be put on the spot in such a manner… The other student actors waiting along the stage were whispering now too, exchanging meaningful looks and smirks – a few words making themselves more than apparent. He heard at least one girl stage-whisper “Freak…” to her friend on his way out, and even one of the judges could be heard muttering, “But he’s a mutant…”

As he exited the performance space, he couldn’t help but stop a few yards away outside, punching the far wall in frustration. Several other teenagers in the area backed away quickly, double-taking at his green skin and irritated manner. Who knew how safe it was to be around an angry green mutant? He made an almost feral noise in his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut against the tears, resolving to make it to his room before anything happened where others could mock him for weakness. How COULD they? How could they push him through all the way to the quarter-finals only to dismiss him because of the color of his SKIN? It was ridiculous, it was stupid, it was biased and unfair and… it was how things were and he couldn’t change that.

He made it as far as his all-expenses-paid room before flopping down on the bed and screaming – letting all his anger out into his pillow. It smelled of mildew and bad detergent, and he flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling for several long minutes. He waited for his breathing to calm, finally kicking off his shoes and sitting up to turn the TV on. Only one more day before he went back to the Institute. At least he made it this far into the week without having the failure weighing down his spirits. He just looked forward to going back to his adopted home, curling up in his own bed and seeing familiar faces. People who didn’t stop and stare merely because of a few scales here and there, a slightly different hue… He needed his friends again.

Species: Farfetch'd
Extra Information: "Kimo" means 'supplanter,' summarizing how the wild duck Pokémon came to be part of Alani's team. While out with her first Pokémon, a Luvdisc (...it was free) the heartless bird dove into the water and impaled the useless fish on it's bill as a snack. Impressed by it's ability to both rid her of a nuisance and it's strength, the islander captured the reckless Pokémon and bent him to her will over time, although he still has stubborn streaks.

Species: Furret
Extra Information: "Malina," Alani's Furret, has been with her only slightly longer than Kimo. She was caught in the fields west of town while her trainer was changing a flat tire. A rivet rolled away and the curious Sentret found it rolling to her feet - she returned it and watched in fascination while the frustrated woman finished the job. Caught on a whimsy, it has since turned out that she shares her master's interest in shiny things that go vroom and go fast.