Trainer, Aloin Bendlin

ALOIN TRUMAN BENDLIN


THE BASICS


"I've been housing all this doubt and insecurity"

"welcoming to the stage... um, what was your name again?"
Aloin Truman Bendlin. Please don't call me Al.

"well, then, hello! now, this might seem rude, but... would you mind telling me your gender?"
I'm a guy, what are you?

"sorry about that! Now, can you tell me your age? birthdate? maybe even where you were born?"
Ha! It won't do you any good; I don't use my birthday as a password. It’s August eighteenth and I’m twenty-five.

"i might have to get you a birthday present this year! that aside, with whom do you align yourself?"
No thank you; I don’t want your poisonous present. I’m not going to fall for that. I’m neutral good.

"so what's your occupation? got any special skills?"
I'm a trainer. Don't really know that much about anything yet, but I'm curious and excited to learn.

"now, are you a canon character? or an original character?"
Original.

THE APPEARANCE


"And I've been locked inside that house, all the while you hold the key"

"can you tell me the shortest description of yourself as you can?"
Why? Is this room bugged? Do you want to kill me?
I always wear these sunglasses, because I have this scar across my left eye and it's the only way I know how to hide it. I have a sharp chin and sort of spiky blonde hair. Normal build, slightly on the tall side.

"you got a face claim? wanna share it with the world?"
Dirk Strider, Homestuck as Aloin Truman Bendlin.

"what kind of clothing do you like best?"
Tshirt and jeans. Anything that makes it easy to blend in to the crowd so anyone following me and plotting my death won't be able to find me.

"any defining physical traits?"
Besides the scar, not really. And you can't see that under the sunglasses, which never leave my face.

"what about the hair and the eyes?"
My mom used to say my eyes were caramel-colored. They're not; they're just light brown. My hair’s bright blonde.

THE PERSONALITY


"And I've been dying to get out. Might be the death of me."

"tell me a bit about how you act."
-I don’t trust anyone
-Paranoid
-Over-thinks things
-Pessimistic, in the sense that I always thinks bad things are going to happen
-Optimistic in that I always look on the bright side of life, so basically I think the glass is going to be empty but then see it as half full once I get it.
-Want to be helpful
- Curious
-Constantly justifying other people’s decisions
-Nervous

"hm... interesting. what are some things you like and don't like?"
Dislikes:
-People calling me Al
-Jello
-Noisy birds
-Crowds
-Being alone
Likes:
-The smell of honey
-Whittling
-The color of grass after a rain
-Being outside
-Traveling to a place I’ve never been before

"what are some fears and goals you've developed over the years?"
Sunny days- you know the kind, when the sun and the wind work together to make the air just the right temperature and everything seems just a little too perfect. Those set me on edge; freak me out.
Goals: umm, be happy? I guess I don’t have any; I just kind of live in the moment.
"got any quirks? and we all have some habits - what are your's?"
Constantly checking behind my back
Locking doors
Double-checking everything
Walking with one hand brushing against a wall

THE HISTORY


"But even though there's no way of knowing where to go"

"now onto more... personal things. mind telling me who your parents were? any siblings?"
I had a mother and a father. They loved me.


"anyone else of importance in your life?"
No. It was just the three of us; my mother, my father, and I. They loved me. We were happy.

"now, tell me about your past. don't leave out any details!"
We were just a happy, normal family. Then one day- well, not just a day. It was the twenty-fifth of August and I was eleven, not that you care, but I, umm, came from school, and I found my mom on the floor of the kitchen. And she was dead. I mean- she was soaked in her bl- everything's red everywhere. And I hear my dad- I think it's my dad- coming down the stairs and I run to him, to tell him mom's- not breathing. But before I get the words out, I see he's covered in- red, all over him. And I'm just standing there like an idiot; can't even talk and he comes flying at me with this knife that's red from- and he... I still can't believe it, he tries to kill me. But the knife handle, it was too red; it slips in his hand after the first cut. That's why I only have this scar across my eye; that's why I'm not dead. Because of my mom's-
My father was the last person I ever trusted.
Since then, I’ve been sort of floating around; not staying in one place for too long.

THE POKEMON


"I promise I'm going"

THE OOC


"Because oooh, I've gotta get out of here."

"now, let's talk to the maker of this wonderful character. what's your name, sweetheart?"
enigma

"mind telling me how old you are?"
15

"mhm. now, what words would you like under your username? for the mini-profile, that is."
N/A

"how long have you been doing what you're doing?"
0

"can you show us how you write? something up to date, too!"

The father helped the girl down from their cart. Strands of the girl’s light brown hair flew in her face as she faced her father, who knelt down in front of her.
“A year, Thren,” the tiny girl’s father promised, taking her hands in his, “I’ll be back for you in a year. I promise you. And I’ll miss you so much,” Thren nodded.
“And then everything will be fine,” she said with the belief only a helpless child can muster, “we’ll be safe. And happy.” The man smiled at his daughter and tucked a stray strand from the girl’s messy braid behind her ear.
“That’s my brave girl,” he said, “just keep on being brave like that, and the year will seem a very short amount of time.”
“I love you, Daddy,” she said, wrapping her small arms around his neck.
“I love you too,” he said, “I love you so much. So, so, so much.” The girl hesitated, taking a deep breath. She was about to dive into uncharted waters, and she knew that. Even at the age of four, she knew how fickle time could be: how hours could stretch to feel like days, weeks, years. She knew it would feel like a thousand life-times before she hugged her father again. So she hugged him an extra moment, then pulled away and took her father’s hand. Together, they walked past the sign reading Ms. Quilf’s Home for Forgotten Children and through the small cottage’s door.
When the father left, he walked alone.
(I didn’t have any role-playing samples, so this is just the prologue of my novel.)

Accepted
he sounds adorable. <3 can't wait to see how your first roleplaying experience goes~!