Gretel "Foch" Eklund Age:
: November 4th Job
: Police Baton (Tong fa version)Nature
: Thoroughly cunningAbility
: Natural CureMoveset
It was an autumn morning in the pristine room. Beyond the doors, beyond the walls, the air was crisp with cold and windows laced in frost. Shriveled husks of leaves, brown and red, rattled in the breeze while the sun worked its way above the horizon to gift the land with warmth.
But within the hospital room a young woman roared with fury and pain. Hours of labor had passed, and now the climax struck. It was nothing new to the experienced doctor and their nurses who brought a new born baby girl into the light of life.
Gretel's parents were both proud individuals, and this pride leaked into every extension of themselves it could. Her father, an Exeggutor, was a librarian. He found his joy in organizing the shelves to perfection and moving old dusty books out into the lime light near the front of the store so they might be read. Her mother, a burly Trevenant, worked at a near by lumber mill. No, she never did see the irony, and no she never had much of a sense of humor. She was prideful of the sap sweating work, and of the built physique she had developed.
Together this young family of three lived in a small town just south of Goldenrod City. These ego bloated parents pumped Gretel's youth with fine fairytales, adorable dresses, and boasted of their unusual daughter who happened to have white bark. Day care was their one shame, for they could not spare time at home all day to care for their daughter. Although, when she was old enough to toddle properly, they pulled her from day care to her father's library. It was here she had her toys, her pretty picture books, and her scoldings if she happened to squeal too loudly as she played or complained.
Kindergarten came, then preschool. Elementary school fell onto her young shoulders and the slight pressure would begin. Gretel had her fun here. At recess she played out with the boys, being rowdy and rough, but also enjoy sitting with the girls to chat. She loved tag, hide and seek, and dodge ball, each having terrifically fun elements of play. She enjoyed showing off her scabs and scrapes as though they were battle wounds. She could write letters that weren't the best in the class, but her parents claimed it to be none the less.
As she rose in grades she learned recorder, times tables, readings clocks! Her parents attended every long recorder concert the school could think up, and she felt no greater pride than seeing her parents grin after it was her turn to solo.
They installed their pride into her, and this built up a need for her to please them.
School progressed and so did she. She sprouted up through elementary school into middle school, where she joined their track and field team to sate her mother, and worked harder at grades for her father. Still she had time to develop friends and bring them over after track practice to chatter of boys or complete their homework together.
High school came next and in her freshman year her baby brother was born. He did not hold their mother's lineage, but instead became a pile of sobbing eggs. Exeggcute? More like Exeggirksome. She did not get one brother, she got six of them and when her parents managed to please one, another somehow broke out into tears.
They, it, he. Yes, he was a monstrous creation. He took up her parents time. He absorbed everything. No longer did her parents wait by the door for her arrival to see if she had aced a test. No longer did they pay complete attention to her as she sprinted a mile in track. Instead the baby was crying, and her hard work missed. It was only her friends now she could depend on impressing, but they did not hold the same power as her parents.
How she hated her brother. How she despised him.
How she wanted him dead.
But she would not hurt one so small. No, instead she began to see each egg as fellow classmates she despised just as much. Her hatred imprinted on the boys and girls of the school who were immature. Who were ungrateful. Who just did understand the potential they had! Who could be pleasing their parents or impressing others!
Gretel planned a murder of six.
But she only succeeded with three. A boy who did not care about his grades and laughed at others high scores, he eagerly followed Gretel into the woods with an idea any boy his age might have. Though it was not her plan.
A girl who whined about everything. Who hated the cafeteria food, who hated the homework they got, who hated her own make up and who hated how some other individual dressed. She had been harder to lure, but easier to end.
And a last boy who only seemed to desire to party and live in the big city. He could get good grades, she knew, but he preferred to forget about his homework to have fun. She lured him the same as the other boy, with promises, but this had been her mistake. The last boy had told friends who he would be with that night, and soon after his disappearance in their senior year, she was found out.
With frustration and shame, with broken pride, she accepted guilt without a fight and could not bear the sight of her own weeping parents. She accepted the idea of prison openly as an escape, almost thankful she was 18 and could be charged as an adult so she would never have to face her mother and father again.
Prison was a grittier playground. Her life here was more rough than the interior culture of high school. She had no experience with the complex hierarchy and found herself the lowest on the totem pole.
Through her time in prison she hardened and matured more herself. She learned to think more carefully before she acted, or to plot ahead. She learned to manipulate and persuade. She learned the art of stealth so they she blended with the background rather than steal the light as she had liked to in her school years. Gretel had adapted for survival and it proved even more helpful when the virus struck. Like the dangerous spores of a parasect, she found the convicts of her branch turning into mindless controlled beasts who hungered for their fellows. Using what she knew best, she hide in her cell and starved slowly till she had lured the right walking corpse to her bars. A guard. It was easy from there to get his keys and escape till she found fellow survivors, fellow convicts.
With them she made herself useful with her set of skills. Sneaking, spying, manipulating, and killing.
Selfish, thoughtful and tight lipped.
Gretel is a ghostly gal who is unwilling to give what she knows without a fair exchange. She grew up hungry to please, but through her life in prison she learned to care only for herself. More often than not she will speak in riddles, for when one is confused, there is a chance of more rewards for her. More food, more books, more protection.
Being tight lipped has its disadvantages, however. When it comes to decisions among the group she will have little say. She does not tend to be blunt openly and instead takes the difficult way around by nudging individuals with her ideals.
Manipulation is part of her soul. She can appear concerned, but likely it is to gain the trust of someone she can later use as a pawn. Her own trust is harder to gain, for prison life has few circles of trust. Though she appreciates the tough. The ones who can fend for themselves, but go beyond to have concern for others, much unlike herself.
While Gretel has a sharp mind, her body is not fit for combat. She has little skills in hand to hand combat and tends to be fairly dependent on her group when it comes to physical situations. She can run and she can plan, but she truly feels fear when faced with enemies who know of her presence. And while she has plenty of knowledge on survival from reading the prison's library books, she has had little first hand experience.
Frustration is also a common presence with Gretel. While she is not easily angered, she can be easily frustrated or annoyed. Usually resulting from an issue she can't solve with ease, or an individual who just doesn't meet the standards she was expecting.
Reading has become the primary hobby in Gretel's life, though her true hobby is people watching. She can be found in all manner of social places, watching the bodies move about and communicate. Even she will join in to certain circles to absorb the gossip being spoken, or to add in her own two cents, whether true or not.
However, the prison library proves to be a valuable resource in a time where reading has been forgotten for more valuable survival needs. It is books on survival that she focuses on. Stories of people in dire situations, foods that can be grown easily or gathered where one didn't expect. How to make this or how to make that.
Her final hobby is jogging where it is safe. She likes to keep her stamina high for the job she had adopted in their new society. More often then not she will have to travel far for spying, or need to run swiftly to avoid the dangers that lurk in the world beyond.
Likes and Dislikes:
+ Honest praise.
+ Sugary sweet drinks.
+ Wooded areas.
+ The feeling of dirt or water against her bare feet.
+ Darker weather.
+ Soft ambient sounds.
- The ungrateful, the whiny, and the immature.
- Abrupt or loud sounds.
- Wasting material or knowledge.
- Lies and incorrect information.
- Fantasy novels.Extra
- Gretel can cook, but she isn't an expert, especially now when there are no electric stove to turn on. One could call her main edible dishes as pancakes or fried eggs.
- Due to track and being a long distance runner, she has plenty of stamina.
- There is a heart with the letters FO+CH carved into the back of her head, a crude scar from her earlier days in prison. It is, luckily, hidden behind her hair.
- Her prison number has been carved onto her wooden face since the rest of her body would not accept ink.Theme song
: The Water
- FeistRP Style:
Generally literature, however I will RP with any style ;v;
Art, Gretel (c) Me
Application template (c) Poke-Apocalypse
Phantump (c) Pokemon, Nintendo