|my friends r nerds but at least they're cool nerds|
Name: Monrovia “Monnie” Wilde
Age: 19 at time of death (is at least 150y.o)
Gender: Demiboy (he/him or they/them)
Birthday: June 6th (birthday); March 15th (date of death)
Species: #562 - Yamask
Runs a store called Pixie Ring, which is dedicated to handcrafted ‘fairypunk’ accessories such as stone earrings and wire flower crowns.
Personality: (Lonely nature, quick tempered) +Gentle, +Thoughtful, =Cautious, =Self-Absorbed, -Temperamental, -Melancholy
Competing forces work to make Monrovia Wilde the boy he is. His cruel and egotistical persona from his days among the living and the gentle and compassionate spectral persona he possesses today fight to coexist in one little ghost… and sadly there is only so much cognitive dissonance one can take before it starts wearing down on them.
Hardly ever seen without his mask, Monnie is incredibly timid, often stuttering and shaking during the entirety of a conversation. But once any initial neuroticism passes, as long as that may take, he appears to be a somewhat reasonably character, soft-spoken and fairly easy to talk to about whatever mundane thing may come to mind. The problem comes when conversation gets less run-of-the-mill - Monrovia is very easily angered or upset, and often cries when he’s angry. He tends to respond vehemently to questions about his mask, inquiries into his family, and criticism of most kinds.
Monnie’s melancholy demeanor tends to carry over into his daily life, and he finds himself most at peace when surrounded by quirky, modern things. He has a knack for crafting, and will often use wirecraft or beadwork to tune out others if they’re being particularly stressful to him. Some remnants of their selfish and reckless former self exist within them, causing Monnie to be vindictive and aloof, and sometimes even distrusting. Monnie's loneliness and his general contempt for the person he used to be causes him to shove people away more often than one probably should. However this loneliness and general distrust make him very protective of his friends. If someone manages to break through enough of his barriers to befriend him, they'll soon learn that there's a lot more to Monrovia Wilde than just sadness and anger, and that maybe there's a little good buried in his copper heart after all.
|| ACT I ||
A beautiful child is born to two well-to-do Whimsicott. The child is named Percival after his grandfather, Geraldine Harper’s father. Lucas Harper and Geraldine Harper soon gain recognition from the townsfolk, on the eve of Percival’s second birthday.
VILLAGER 1: His hair is like fine silver, and his skin is so deep and brown! He is so very beautiful.
VILLAGER 2: Hush you! You mustn’t say such things; you will cast the evil eye upon him.
GERALDINE: Nonsense, friend! I don’t believe in evil. Percival truly is a beautiful little boy.
LUCAS: (under his breath) Far more beautiful than us.
A CHILD: (tugging on VILLAGER 2’s dress) Mother, his hair is so fluffy! May I braid it?
GERALDINE: He’s much too young. Maybe when he’s older, and wiser. (looks at Percival in adoration) My lovely son! How beautiful your heart must be, for your body to look like this!
|| ACT III ||
PERCIVAL and some Clefairy are playing catch by the well. ALEXIS approaches them.
FAIRY 1: (disdainfully) Look, it’s that freak.
FAIRY 2: Let’s throw a ball at him!
PERCIVAL: Not yet. (smirks at ALEXIS) Hullo, small one. Have you come to take your ball back?
ALEXIS: N-no, I was wondering…
FAIRY 1: He’s scared!
FAIRY 2: Let’s push him in the well.
PERCIVAL: ...If you could play with us, yes? Well you cannot. You’re absolutely disgusting to look at. Look at those large teeth of yours! Even an Axew would be embarrassed of them.
ALEXIS: My teeth are a decent size! (Stammering, comes closer) And yes, I DO want my ball back. (Attempts to snatch ball from FAIRY 2)
PERCIVAL: Oh dear, my hands! What are they doing? (laughs wickedly, before pushing ALEXIS into the well. ALEXIS screams before hitting the water, and crying)
FAIRY 1: Loser Lexy has fallen into the well! Loser Lexy!
FAIRY 2: I knew it would be funny!
PERCIVAL peers into the well and smiles cruelly.
PERCIVAL: Perhaps it is better you are down there. No one can see how hideous you are.
||ACT VI ||
SCENE: The Harper family kitchen. Geraldine and Lucas sit on opposite sides of the table. Geraldine looks baffled and worried. Lucas looks angry.
GERALDINE: I don’t understand, I don’t… I thought he would be so beautiful inside.
LUCAS: Enough with your foolish yapping, Dina! Our son is wicked. Just yesterday he threw a rock at Cassidy’s young son with his new slingshot. I knew it was a mistake to buy him that.
GERALDINE: No, he’s good! I promise, he is. There is no way Arceus would give us a son so beautiful if he wasn’t a good, godly creature. There must be some mistake!
PERCIVAL enters. He is covered in dirt and looks angry. Geraldine Rises.
GERALDINE: My son! Are you alright? You look dreadful in all that-
PERCIVAL: (interrupting) Not nearly as dreadful as you do, mother! Look, your brow is all covered in sweat and dust, and your hair is matted and drab. I look much better than you do.
LUCAS: (Rises as well, voice rising) Percy, that is no way to talk to your own mother. You are a simply ungrateful child.
PERCIVAL: (turns up his nose) And you two are foolish adults! I know not why I waste time with you.
Percival trudges to the washroom. Geraldine waits for a few seconds. Her face is still and solemn. Then she sits down in a chair and cries.
GERALDINE: (whispering, between sobs) He’s good, I know it. I know it…
|| ACT X ||
A yamask wakes up. Surrounding him are a few small mushrooms in an otherwise clear field.
YAMASK: Where am I? (Looks down at his mask. It is an unclear image, and it looks like a frog) Oh, I remember. This used to be my house… (stands and looks around, his eyes wide) I had the most curious dream, where I was stripped of my face and walked around without a nose and holes for eyes. I dreamt there was a great fire at our house; the lamp spilled and the whole abode went up in flames. I dreamt that mother and father died, and that my mother’s last words to me were ‘I wish I had done better.’ Better how? I am beautiful, and that is all.
The Yamask looks around once again, and squints at two large headstones in the near clearing. He approaches it tentatively, kneeling to examine them. Then he gasps, a horrified expression on his face.
YAMASK: It’s true! It’s true, and my parents are dead! (kneels to look at the headstone, and shrieks when he sees the reflection of his face in the polished stone. His hands rush to his face.) I’m hideous! My teeth are large and unsightly, and my nose has bumps and warts all over! My hair is coal dark and matted… oh goodness, I have nothing! (falls to the ground, sobbing) Mother, you were wrong about me! I am not good. I was never good. And now I have lost the only thing that mattered to me. I am simply nothing. Father was right. I was never good.
|| ACT XII ||
The Yamask and a Skarmory woman are talking. The Yamask seems tired and melancholy, but he keeps his cool disposition.
YAMASK: No miss. I got the scars on my arm in a fight. A young man named Percival I used to know.
SKARMORY: Euch! I hate talking about injuries, don’t you? They make me feel so squeamish! Let’s talk about something else. Like your mask! I love your mask, by the way. It’s so unusual! Where may I get one?
YAMASK: (coldly) You cannot. This is my mask. It was given to me the day I was born.
SKARMORY: Oh, my apologies! I’m afraid I’m just a sucker for fashionable things like it. And the flowers you braided into you hair are so fresh-looking. Are you a gardener?
YAMASK: I am not. I made these flowers myself out of wire and fabric. I have a terrible hand with flowers.
SKARMORY: Well the whole ‘hippie chic’ thing is very in style now. You can make a killing by selling stuff like that. I-I’m sorry, what did you say your name is again? I’m really forgetful! A total ditz!
The Yamask looks at the flowers in his braids and sighs. His tired expression is invisible behind the mask.
YAMASK: Monrovia Wilde.
Loved Gift: Handmade flower crowns
Liked Gifts: Jewelry (of or related to flowers is a plus), big sweaters, old novels
Disliked Gifts: Most clothes, beauty products, food, old-timey things
Hated Gift: Masks
-Monnie is exactly the type of person to have a really cute Etsy shop, but he can’t figure out the internet so that’s not an option.
-Monnie refuses to celebrate on his birthday, and will treat anyone’s attempts to do so with anger and avoidance. Monnie prefers to celebrate the day of his death, since he treats it more like the day whom he is now was born. He affectionately calls it his “Mortiversary.”-Monnie gets upset when people ask if they can try on his mask. Don't do it. Don't ever do it. Please.
Roleplay methods / Availability:
Notes and Skype are my preferred RP method, but I also do Google Docs. I prefer Skype, but I only give my account to people I’m familiar with. I do lit/paragraph mostly. Script rps I usually reserve for very close friends or short/humorous RPs on Skype.
Spencer donated a Mystery Potion... and look at what happened!
In only a handful of seconds – before they could even count what was happening, the world begins to grow. The smoke, odious and thick, emerging from the springs only let enough light throw to betray that size of the environment, growing larger and larger by the millisecond, only to cease after what seems like eternity. The smoke clears long enough for Spencer to blink a few time and regain their senses.
They struggle to find words, all semblance of their normal, articulate self – gone. Vanished. Spencer gasps a bit and attempts to voice their thoughts in the best way possible. “That was weird.”
Weird. What’s happening to me?
Spencer frowns and fumbles in their pocket, their eyes narrowing when their hand feels a phone much larger than usual. It isn’t until now that they look at their hands.
All save for the fingertips, pale and discolored in a way they were used to seeing.
“AHHH!” Spencer shrieks, almost frightened by the high pitch of their own voice. Their hands instantly fly to their face, and then to their backside. Two leaves, one bulb. No flower.
“What the heck!” Spencer exclaims, their normally calm manner fading into one of childlike panic. “Bonnie! Bonnie are you okay?” They ask, spinning around to face the rather unfazed Dusclops sitting next to them. The ghost doesn’t respond. Her one red eye fades out into the dark of her hollow skull, and fades back in.
Spencer’s eyes remain wide, fixed in their panicked guard; their whole face strained from the pinching in of their pained expression. The bulbasaur attempts unsuccessfully to hold in the tears that were welling up in their eyes. They had no idea where they were. They couldn’t remember anything. “Bonnie... I wanna go home!” They shout, rushing to the ghost and clinging to her, burying their face in her matted, stone-cold fur. The Dusclops takes a few seconds to respond before a single hand floats up, pushing Spencer away from the ghost’s body and taking their small, dark hand in it. Bonnie lets out a deep, echoing chirp – a sound that perhaps would scare off most seven year old children, but was comfortable and familiar to Spencer.
I remember Bonnie! She’s my ghost. And I remember Pancake and Gudrun… Spencer uses their free hand to wipe away the tears that had now stained their face. The darkness of their skin was almost alien to them – they didn’t even remember what it was like having such dark skin. They didn’t remember anything about their skin at all. I remember Annie, and Felicity, and Jared and Kira, and that fishy man! Their mind continues to race as Bonnie slowly leads them out of the woods, her large hand now much stronger than them. Oh no… Faith.
Spencer pulls against Bonnie’s hand, attempting to hold back the rest of their tears. The coldness of her rough skin was uncomfortable, even from one as dear to them as the Dusclops. The ghost doesn’t let go. She just looks at the child for a few seconds before sitting down, her invitation for Spencer to do what they must. Hurriedly, the bulbasaur grabs at their phone, now much larger than their hand, and frantically swipes through all the icons in it to find the phone itself. Why did I download all these apps?? Did I download them? This is my phone, right?
“Lucky? Lucky are you there? It’s me! Spencer!” Their voice cracks. The tears they held back manifest themselves clearly in the breaks in their cries for help.
“…when you are finished, you may hang up, or press 1 for more options.”
There’s a beep. Spencer looks at the phone weakly and sniffles.
“…Bonnie, take me home please.”
Pokemon and Bulbasaur belong to Nintendo.
Everything is closed! I'm always busy.
My tumblr: kayveedee.tumblr.com/
My art blog: krithidraws.tumblr.com/
Checklist (God knows I need one)
Stop drawing, do your homework
All the other unnamed mon's ref sheets
New Venice map
Try not to panic
Krithika/Kay || They/Their || 18 || Ace || Hindu || queer nostalgia trash || USA
Hello everyone! (at least everyone who happens to read this)
Welcome to the Lair! You can call me Kay. I'm here because I
I am of south Indian heritage and I'm very proud of it, so while I don't do as many traditional fine art forms as I used to as a child, I would love to talk about my culture with you! I'm a neuroscience student, but my first love is art! I'm a Pokemon fan artist for the most part, but lately I've been redesigning the way I approach my art, so some changes in the material I post might be under way. This is virtually a group account. Non fanart sometimes goes up here, but I bet 96% of my gallery is Pokemon. I do many serious original works on my own time, but they're all huge or experimental. No kidding, I prefer watercolors over all and my scanner is only so big, so...
Basically this is not the place for you if you don't like Pokemon, haha xD
I am a big fan of all sorts of 2D media! I am primarily a watercolor artist and do quite a bit digital art as well (the concentration of each in a given span of time is variable), but I love to explore mediums and will experiment with whatever I can get my hands on. I tend to like traditional styles of different cultures and mixing organic and geometric shapes in composition.
Aside from my artwork, I also like to write short stories, write songs, play piano and guitar, and play video games in my spare time. Most of my non-fan-art work (which sadly you may rarely see; I promise it's decent) is inspired by either history, mythology/religion, nature, science, fashion, or other cultures, all of which fascinate me. I also tend to be a bit on-and-off on dA. I often have sporadic multiple-artwork-uploads and then days or weeks on end of nothing, very often reflective of what I am feeling on a given day. I apologize in advance for any weirdness in my uploading schedule, because I can almost promise it'll happen although I flatter myself by thinking anyone actually cares and/or reads this far in things like this
Feel free to say hi! I don't bite <3
Thanks for visiting! Enjoy your visit to Kay's gallery
The rp groups I mod~
The rp groups I'm in~
Josephine the Monferno
Tina the Tepig
Pavla the Phantump and Tanvi the Metagross
Edgar the Banette
- Beryllium the Mandibuzz and Spencer the Ivysaur
Other groups I'm active in
The Magical Lamps
People I know irl
Some pretty cool folks (in no particular order)
Inspirations (this is a working list <3)